Exist
by Pureauthor
Summary: We feel no pain but that of the heart. We hunger not for food but for warmth. We can rage and scream, but we cannot weep. We exist, yet we do not live. And all that is left is burning sorrow.
1. Flee

Exist

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The story concept came to me a I was wondering about what it would be like to 'live' as an undead. It's not terribly original, I know, but hey, here's to hoping I give you a good read regardless.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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Prologue: Flee

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When you boiled it down to the barest essentials, you were no longer safe anymore.

Sure, you could _pretend_ you were safe. You could talk of the Argent Dawn and alliance with the Night Elves and the fact that the Scourge's sudden offensive from Naxxramas had been blunted. Maybe if you talked long enough and loud enough, people might actually believe you.

But in truth, you weren't safe. Anywhere. Not in fortified towns. Not in the villages. Not anywhere.

And every once in a while, that simple fact was driven home anew. Often with unpleasant results.

Amelia walked alongside the wagon, keeping her gaze low as the caravan trundled their way through the woods. Another group that was all but ready to abandon Lordaeron and head for Kalimdor and the island city of Theramoore.

In truth, she bore rather mixed feelings over this whole affair. That she was leaving these accursed lands and to a new place – one relatively free of the Undead's curse – was of course a good thing. That she would be – at long last – reunited with her father, who was apparently off defending themselves against the Horde over there.

Still… the prospect of leaving the lands she had grown up in, of leaving the only life she'd ever had behind… it wasn't the most comforting of thoughts.

She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. "There's nothing left for me here." She whispered in an attempt to still the disquiet in her heart.

It was a mistake. As soon as she uttered those words, the memories she had done her level best to bury were dredged up again, swirling around in her mind and forcing her to come to grips – yet again – that her mother and brother were both no longer of this world.

The cold fury – tinged with stark fear – of the Undead that had so suddenly left her bereft of her sibling and parent, caused her to close her eyes, taking several deep breaths to calm herself down. A single tear rolled down her cheek, one that she angrily wiped away. She needed to be strong.

A scream suddenly broke through the misty path. Then more, rising both in volume and rapidity. Amelia whipped her head up, catching flashes of movement on both sides of the wood. As one of them paused, stumbled by some root, she saw clearly his rotting skin that revealed his skeletal grin. An Undead.

Fighting hard against her sudden shortness of breath, she glanced towards the rear of the caravan, where a trio of man dressed in dark robes were walking forward slowly, their ornate staffs glowing a sickly yellow. Even as she stared in consternation, a former member of the caraven rose again, stumbling with an uneven gait as he joined the melee.

Bursting out from the leafy undergrowth, two undead zombies, eyes glowing with unearthly malice, leapt directly at her. Instinctively she ducked, and one of them sailed over head, crashing into the wagon she had been walking besides. The other managed to rake her with its claws, but the wounds were shallow, and rolling Amelia was able to put a fair distance between her and the beasts.

All around them, more and more cries heralded the increasing numbers of undead that had appeared – seemingly from nowhere – all around them. As Amelia staggered to her feet, clutching her wounded arm, she glanced around wildly, trying to find some escape from the evil that had come upon them.

It was their eagerness to slay all in their path that gave the few survivors their slim opening. As the undead fell upon the rest with savage fury, a select few rallied together in their panic, seeking to break through into the nearby woods where perhaps safety might be found.

As part of that tiny group, Amelia struggled for breath, and for the strength to keep pace with the rest of them as they rushed for the trees. As her legs pumped frantically, she heard the screams of unlucky stragglers as the ghouls – aided by their superhuman endurance – brought them down with grim efficiency.

As they passed through the threshold of the trees, all was lost except for the sound of ragged breathing and the blank fear. The Undead were known for being efficient in their work. Very efficient.

Still, after several long minutes of running, and with no sudden appearance of Undead to tear her to shreds, Amelia dared to let herself believe they had been able to escape – that they would be able to live.

But even now, Death's cold tendrils reached out to seize her.

Abruptly she stumbled, collapsing to the dirt ground as the world spun around her. Fighting nausea, she pulled herself to her feet – only to collapse once again. A violent fit of coughing wracked her body, and when it passed, she could feel her strength steadily ebbing away.

"No…" She whispered, trying to deny reality. "Please, no…"

She'd heard the stories. She knew the symptoms of the Lich King's dread plague, draining the body of all strength even as it claimed the essence of its hosts, converting them into the mindless undead, bound eternally to the will of the Lich King

"Please…" She whispered, too exhausted to even shout for help. Not that it mattered – who would come to her aid. The party she had been fleeing with had long since vanished further into the woods by now.

"Please… somebody… anybody… help." Tears of anguish and terror rolled slowly down her cheeks. Slowly, she lifted her arm to drag herself across the ground, trying to move, to flee. Somewhere. Anywhere.

The effort failed, of course. She was just a simple village girl – what could she do? After a backbreaking effort, she finally managed to slump down in a sitting position, her back resting against a sturdy trunk.

She didn't know how long she lay there on the cold earth, feeling the dulling ache slowly spread through her body. It was all she could do to keep drawing in air, feeling her body fight hopelessly against the darkness seeking to overthrow it.

Suddenly there came the pounding of feet, and a trio of undead appeared in her line of vision. The lead one who would have been entirely skeletal if not for the few forlorn strips of flesh clinging to his skin, bent down, staring at her closely.

A single arm was drawn back, flexed into a claw that would be brought down upon her skull with all the unholy might it could muster. Sobbing frantically, Amelia tried to twist around, trying to avoid a blow she knew would bring death. And then worse…

"Leave her." The voice was cold, imperious. "She'll be one of us shortly enough." One of the men in the dark robes spoke even as he calmly pushed aside a branch. "Chase down the others."

Without another sound the three of them whirled continued their chase through the dark woods, intent on hunting down those whose legs still afforded her strength to flee..

The necromancer glanced idly off into the distance, obviously waiting, while Amelia just sat there – shivering as a strange numbness slowly spread through her entire body. Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of her own hand, lying sprawled on the ground.

Even with her darkening vision, she could see the grey pall that had fallen upon her skin.

_What will it feel like? Will it hurt? I don't want to become one of them. I don't want to die. I don't want to die, please, help me help me I don't want to die- I_ … She had lost her mother and brother to the undead. She didn't want to join their ranks. She didn't want to fight in service to the Lich King. She didn't… she didn't want…

_Help me…_ Even her mind was slowing, shutting down as her body succumbed to the dark power the Lich King wielded. Her breathing became raspy, her eyes hooded. Her fingers twitched – independently of her will.

_No… I can't… my eyes… keep them open…_ A futile effort. The world was lost to her, and her eyes slid shut.

Her consciousness dimmed, fading in upon itself. It shouldn't have ended this way. She should have been reaching the harbour by now – boarding a ship bound for Kalimdor. She should have been away from the Undead…

She hadn't stopped crying once since she'd realized what had happened, and even now, she could still feel the tears on her cheeks.

It shouldn't have ended this way.

_Father…_

Abruptly she felt something grab her roughly by her hair, tilting her head back.

"Drink this." Something was inserted between her lips, and a vile taste filled her mouth. Her body convulsed instinctively at the horrid taste, but lacked the strength to do much of anything else.

Whatever that liquid was, it didn't appear to have done much good. The last bright spark of her consciousness faded, and then all was cast into the abyss…

* * *

"She's taking a long time to wake."

"I barely found her in time, damn you! Of _course_ it'll take longer this way."

"Hrmph. The others say she was already gone by the time you reached her."

"If she had been, she'd be Scourge, and she'd have risen by now. And of course she'd be dead. _Real_ dead."

Harsh voices were the first thing that penetrated the thick fog in her mind. She squinted slightly. Where-? What had happened?

Suddenly, she remember with a jolt all that had transpired. The caravan she had been with had been attacked, she'd fled… and ended up infected with the Plague. What had happened. She wasn't… she couldn't really…

Fear chose that moment to shove its cold spike into her gut. Slowly, dreading every second of it, she forced her eyes open.

She stared up into a stone ceiling, elaborately carved. From several nooks and crannies fetid water dripped down, though thankfully none fell on her. She had apparently been placed lying down.

Something felt strange, though, and it took her nearly a minute of thinking to finally get it.

There was a silence in her chest. She felt the stillness. The stillness that no man alive had ever lived to tell off. No man _alive_…

The cold spike twisted sharply.

Slowly, she raised a shaking hand in front of her face. It was pallid and grey. Across her arm to her elbow was a tear in the flesh. She remembered that wound. She'd received it when the attack started. It had burned terribly and she remembered uttering a silent curse for that wound.

Now, she would have given the whole world to feel that pain again. In its place was but burning emptiness.

The shock of this discovery swirled together with the cold dread in her heart, exploding from her mouth in a long and steady wail of terror, rage, and despair.

She was now one of them. One of the beings that had slain her mother, her brother, and her village. One of those trapped between life and death – cursed to walk the earth until they were torn apart or whatever vile sorcery that granted them the pale mockery of life finally extinguished itself.

One of the Undead.

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Thanks for reading. Please review. 


	2. Scream

Exist

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Been going back to play DotA (the Allstars version), and I have to say I actually prefer classic, since it had less to do with items, and more to do with micro/skillset.

Anyway, you're not here to hear me ramble. Let's go.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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_Undead appear to have basic tactile sensations, although they apparently lack the ability to feel pain – useful for those bred to be warriors. The mere act of reanimation appears to grant them greatly improved strength and stamina – in combat, an undead subject will easily overpower multiple livings members of it's same species – every time . From what I can tell, undead beings do not require nourishment to sustain its life – only magic. Of course, since none of my subjects have survived long enough for them to face the potential effects of starvation, that theory is an educated guess, at best._ – From the Records of Renegade Wizard Kel'Thuzad

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The horrible wail wouldn't stop. It couldn't. The horror of her situation slammed into her full force, the tidal waves of raw grief matched only by the screaming howl of her despair.

She was _undead_. She had, in a single instant, become the very thing she loathed most in the world.

A harsh scream pierced the damp underground air. It was an awful sound, formless, shrill, carrying in it the sound of agony and sorrow.

So alien was the sound to her that it took her several seconds to realize it was she herself who was screaming.

She sat bolt upright from the stone slab she had been placed on, beholding the pale flesh on her arms. Grey. _Lifeless_. Her fingers flexed reflexively, and she could see the dead skin stretch and pull with the strain.

**No.**

Her scream now took on the added note of fury. Damned! Damned to a hell on earth. In a frenzy, she began clawing at her own skin, trying to rip the dead greyness off, trying to erase all reminders that she was undead.

No, it wouldn't work! Beneath would be nothing but bone! She couldn't escape seeing that! She couldn't – Her eyes! Put her eyes out, she would never have to see the horror that was herself, ever again.

Abruptly she felt two strong hands grab onto her shoulders, slamming her back onto the cold concrete with great force – but there was no pain. Frantically, she fought back, trying to push away her unseen assailant. And all this while, her screaming never stopped.

"Stop _screaming_, damn you! And hold still! Iskarn, grab her legs!"

She held something cold and hard wrap around her right leg, and instinctively she lashed out, catching whatever it was solidly with her foot. There was an 'umph!' sound in the background, and the grip lessened –

Suddenly a hand clamped down on her mouth, forcing it closed and holding it shut.

"MMRRRPPhhhHHH!" She sputtered. Suddenly, twin orbs of chartreuse light leered closer to her. The shock of it caused her to recoil, but the grip on her shoulder tightened.

"_Listen."_ The sound was soft but forceful. "Yes, I know what it must feel like to you. But _stop screaming_ for a moment. I'm not releasing my hand from your mouth until you stop making such a caterwaul, got it? If you do, nod."

Fearfully, she nodded.

"Good. Now, can I remove my hand from your mouth?"

She nodded again.

"Good." The clammy fingers slowly pulled away, and Amelia sat up. True to her promise, she didn't scream. She merely curled up into tight ball, sobbing quietly to herself as the shock wore away and the grim reality of her situation became ever clearer to her.

"Iskarn, you okay?"

"Yeah, she just… dislocated my jaw for a sec. She's got spirit, if nothing else." She glanced up, noticing what appeared to be nothing more than a skeleton with only a few wisps of hair from the top of his skull. He was currently engaged in trying to slide his jaw back into place. Amelia winced at the morbid sight.

"I'll go deal with the other new arrivals, you can help rehabilitate her." 'Iskarn' continued. Thus saying, he left the room through a tiny alcove.

Burying her head back into her knees, her body shook with suppressed sobs. Angrily, she reached up to wipe away her tears – only to find that there weren't any. The discovery caused her to shiver slightly and pull herself closer.

After several long seconds, she became aware that the other person – if one could call it that – was sitting next to her, silent. She had nothing to say to him, so she kept silent, head bowed low, staring straight into the darkening pit of her despair.

After several long minutes, the unfairness and injustice of it all, burning within her heart, forced her to speak out. "I was going to be free." She said hollowly. "I was going… I was going to leave all this behind and start a new life – away from all this suffering."

Another silence descended upon the musty room for a few seconds, until a dry laugh broke it. Her companion's low chuckle broke Amelia from her reverie, and she looked at him with surprise.

"Is that so? Well, if that's the case, fair maiden, then allow me to give you a rather rude shock - it would have made no difference had the Scourge not attacked you at all."

"W-what?"

"The gestation period of the Plague is anywhere from a week to one and a half-months. You were infected long before you set out on that caravan. Had the Scourge not attacked, all that would have changed would that your fellow travelers would have been killed by you after a little while." He did not state this in a gloating or condescending tone. He spoke in a matter-of-fact tone, as if reading from some dusty tome of knowledge.

Amelia ground her teeth, forcing in a deep breath, trying assimilate this new information properly. Something clicked in her mind and she turned to him. "You know about what happened… that means… you were there?"

Her companion let out a long sigh. Then he nodded. "I – my band – we were the ones who found you."

* * *

"_Gjoln, you're a terrible tracker, you know that?"_

"_Shut up! I don't see you helping!"_ _Gjoln hissed as he crouched low to the ground. "There's a necromancer in the clearing up ahead. He's just standing there."_

_Arn'jin leaped lithely up a tree branch, taking great care not to rustle the leaves as he did so. His former life as a Forest Troll had granted him great knowledge of hunting in the forest, and he used this to his advantage often – such as now._

_In seconds, he returned, crouching from his position atop the tree. "There be a human with the necromancer, mon." His undead eyes glittered brightly. "Plagued."_

"_How far gone?" He asked. De facto leader of this tiny band, he had their absolute loyalty, and they had his absolute trust._

"_It's just about end up the line for her." Arn'jin chuckled grimly. "We gotta act fast, eh?" He grinned as he plucked a hand axe from his belt._

"_One strike, one kill, got it?" He said in reply. "We can't afford him putting some enchantment on us." He pulled a tiny vial of thick liquid from his pouch. "I'll go for the human. Gjoln, ready a throwing dagger just in case Arn'jin misses."_

"_You be doubting me, mon?" Arn'jin snorted and did a backflip at the same time that he hurled his axe. It whistled as it spun through the trees, shearing a sapling before it plunged neatly into the necromancer's crown. The dark wizard collapsed soundlessly._

_He had already charged forward, pushing aside a low-hanging branch as he headed for the human – a girl, he realized, almost entirely gone. Her eyes were shut, her entire body was covered in a thick sheen of sweat, and her skin had already started to turn grey. Uttering a silent curse, he crouched beside her. She mumbled something incoherent – good, that meant she was still alive._

"_Drink this."_

_Uncorking the vial, he jerked her head back and poured the contents down her throat. Under ordinary circumstances, anyone with a sense of taste with had jerked and sputtered, the body reacting violently to a concoction with such awful taste. But the girl was apparently too weak to do more than twitch slightly._

"_Hows't?" Gjoln looked over his shoulder. "Will she make it?"_

"_Time will tell." Shifting her position so that had could carry her more comfortably, he turned to his comrades. "I'll be heading back now." He shot a look at the still form of the necromancer. "And burn that body. We don't want him coming back to meet us again."_

"_Got it."_

_Without another word he turned, heading with all speed for safer grounds._

* * *

"So, you fed me that… potion, and brought me here?" She asked shakily.

"Uh huh." He nodded, pulling the empty vial from his pouch. "No one on Azeroth seems to have found a cure for Plague – more's the pity – but our apothecaries have brewed up some stuff that'll slow the effects down a bit. Enough to buy us enough time to bring them here before the victim become Scou-"

She screamed in rage, tackling him to the ground as her hands closed around his throat. "_You_ did this to me?" She cried, tightening her grip. "Why? WHY? Why curse me to this… this existence!" She spat at his face, not really caring that there was no moisture in her mouth to actually spit anything. "Better that you had stuck a dagger into my back when you found me! Better that you had _killed_ me instead of condemning me to-"

A hooked finger jabbed deep into her throat. Although, once again, she felt absolutely no pain from the action, the pressure was enough to make her relent, stumbling away slightly.

He pulled himself up into a sitting position, not bothering to rub his neck. "Listen, _girl_." He said none too kindly. "There is no power in all Azeroth that could have stopped you from becoming Undead, whether or not you succumbed to the Plague itself or if someone else sped your passing. Best we could have done is burnt you to ashes and hoped the Lich king had no method of reanimating _that_, though I wouldn't bet on it. However, the group I lead know little in the way of magic, and there wasn't any time to start a fire that could be counted on to consume you utterly. If you really wish to set yourself on fire _now_, then be my guest, though I sincerely hope you give me prior warning before you do – _I_, at least, have no wish to let fire touch my undead flesh."

"You think this is _funny_?" She shrieked and tried to tackle him again. This time, however, he was prepared, and caught hold of her easily. Not deterred, she struggled frantically, trying to wrap her hands around his neck once more. "I lost _everything_! My home, my father, my _future_! You don't know what it's like! You _can't_ know what it's like! To have everything perfectly fine one minute, and the next you're trapped, cursed, _condemned_! You don't know-"

Hands suddenly seized her wrists in an iron grip and he thrust his deathly pale face at hers. Slowly, deliberately, never taking the glowing orbs of energy that were his eyes from her face, he spoke three words.

"I. Don't. Know?"

Only then did she realize that his left eyeball was missing. In its place was a empty socket, filled only with unholy light.

Shaken, she slumped back, and he released her grip. Noting what she had stared at, he prodded at the flesh around his empty eye, a finger almost finding its way in. Amelia shuddered inwardly at that sight.

"We have _all_ lost much, _girl_. Much of what was once ourselves. Consider yourself lucky – the transition between your life and undeath – _free_ undeath – was swift. Your memories have not yet rotted into the cold earth. How would you like it, girl, if you had no memory of the parents who bore you, raised you, fed you and nurtured you? That if you could no longer recall the names of childhood friends you had spent happy years running and playing with in the golden fields? How would you like it if you were tormented daily by faceless specters, stirring up false dregs of memory that scream to be recalled, but cannot be? To have known nothing of a childhood – only years of war and hatred and fear and death? To have the terrible years – trapped in mindless service to the Lich King – replayed endlessly in your mind, fresh as the recollections of an hour past? To-"

"STOP IT!" Amelia screamed, face buried in her hands. "Stop telling me about all of that! Just… stop." She had crouched down, curling up into a tight ball once more, eyes squeezed shut, knees to her chin. "Stop…" Her last word came out as nothing more than a whimper

An uncomfortable silence descended upon the dank room. Amelia remained huddled, shivering in the cold. She heard him sigh.

"I'm sorry." He finally said. "I didn't mean to upset you… like that. It's just… don't go making stupid accusations. You could make other people very… upset."

She nodded tightly. "If we're talking diplomacy," She bit out. "Then stop calling me 'girl'. You hardly look any older than me." And that was true. He looked to be in his late-teens – just like her, actually."

"Well, yes, I suppose that is true." He smiled. "Now, then, how many years has it been _since my body became physically incapable of growing?_ My, they _do_ seem to all run together."

Embarrassment washed over Amelia. Of _course_ he was older than he looked! It wasn't as if the dead flesh of his body could grow along with him. Shamefully, she ducked her head again, not daring to look him in the eye.

Then she heard him chuckle. "Sorry, sorry, I was just teasing." Curious, she glanced up. "I haven't been dead for _that_ long a time." He sighed, and a hint of weariness crept into his voice. "It's just the endless strain that made it seem so. As best as I can recall, it's been three years – that would make me just shy of twenty-one, were I still alive."

"Oh." Feeling she should offer something in return that could patch up the already-strained relations between them, she spoke again. "I – I'm nineteen."

Before he could reply, there came a loud clattering from the stairs leading to the exit, and a large hulking form appeared in the doorway. Amelia recognized the creature for a troll – an undead one, at that, given the numerous tears in the flesh that revealed bone, and the glowing eyes – and shuddered.

"Iskarn told me you would be here, mon." The troll grinned. "How's the newcomer?"

"As well as could be expected." He shot her a glance while simultaneously rubbing his neck and giving her a wan smile. The message was not lost on Amelia, and she decided to stay silent. "Glad to see you back, Arn'Jin."

"Anyway, we took care o' the necromancer like you asked. And I got meself a new toy, eh?" The troll unbuckled an ornate staff that Amelia had seen before – only it had last been gripped by the hands of a fellow human who had stared coldly at her crumpled form before condemning her to death – and worse.

"Do you even know how to _use_ a staff?" The human undead snorted.

"That never stopped me before!" The troll guffawed. Despite herself, Amelia found herself staring at the jovial figure, how he carried himself so casually. The troll caught her looking at him and turned to her.

"And whacha be looking at? Ain't never see an undead troll before, mon?" He apparently found his own joke hilarious, and laughed long and loud for several long seconds.

"No, it's just… I was wondering how a troll came to be undead." She asked.

One finger scratched at his chin pensively. "Well, mon, did you know that if you eat a Plagued human, you end up Plagued yo'self?" He grinned again. "Now you do."

Amelia took a moment to process that information, and decided that she really didn't want to know more.

"Bah. Stop scaring the new arrivals, Arn!" Another human walked in, and unlike the troll and companion, the decay of his body was readily evident. The skin was stretched tight across his face and arms, forming a hellish white mask that barely seemed different from the skull it covered. Dark swathes along the arm revealed where the skin had rotted away entirely, showing pearl-white bone. Amelia had to force herself to suppress a cry of fright. He turned to her and bowed slowly. "My deepest apologies, sweet one. Arn'Jin here is rather lacking in manners of finesse and etiquette, and I _do_ hope he hasn't been too… unpleasant, even in the short time you've known him."

Not trusting herself to speak, Amelia merely nodded.

"Ah, you're back too, Gjoln. I guess that means the rest of the group has returned as well. You guys head to the usual spot – I'll meet you there later." The troll and the human nodded an affirmative and bounded back up the stairs.

He sighed and turned to Amelia. "I can't believe I completely forgot to tell you – do you know where we are?"

Cautiously, she shook her head.

"You're in the outskirts of Brill, a town held by the Forsaken Undead."

The Forsaken! Amelia had heard of them in whispers – and as of late, increasingly often. They were said to be a group of independent, 'free' undead who answered not to the Lich King but to themselves alone. She'd never paid much attention to those tales. To her, undead were undead, and that was that.

But now… she shook her head slightly.

"What do you want with me?" She asked.

"Well, for a start, to accept the fact that you're undead." He held up a hand as she started to protest. "I don't say 'resign yourself to it', if there is a cure, then we _will_ find it. But as it stands, there isn't one available to us, so we make do."

Amelia closed her eyes. The sensations around her, her feelings, all of it was familiar and yet… not. Changed in subtle ways she could barely begin to understand. It was a long moment before she realized that she had been holding her breath – and yet she still felt fine.

Finally, the long silence was broken as she nodded and said, "I'll come with you." She said softly. "I've… everything else has been taken from me."

"Very well." He turned to the doorway, but then paused. "By the way… do you want a new name?"

"A new name?" Amelia frowned. "Why?"

"A lot of us… we've adopted new names, symbolic of our existence between split in two. One, a life we hope to return to someday, and the other, a pale mockery." He smiled crookedly. "It's made easier by the fact that a lot of us can't remember what life was like before we… turned."

Amelia stood silent again, before shaking her head. "No. _I_ remember. I don't want to let it go. I want to…" She swallowed. "I want to remember – I want to go back someday."

He nodded, smiled. "A good choice. Then let's be on-"

"Did you take a new name?"

He fell silent, nodded again.

"Well, then, what is it? Or, at least, what would you have me call you?"

He sighed softly, scratching at the back of his neck. Then he lifted his gaze to meet hers and once more Amelia saw in the glowing orbs the look of one who had seen far too much before his time.

"Revlis. Call me Revlis."

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Thank you for reading. Please review. 


	3. Twisted

Exist

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Classic DotA FTW. That is all.

Now, back to the story.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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Chapter 2: Twisted

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"_We call ourselves the Forsaken, for that is what we are. Abandoned by the soldiers whom we thought would protect us, shunned by the races we once belonged to, hated and feared by those we called our own kin, our only allies the brutes who all but slaughtered us during the Second War. Look. Look at what we are – at what we once were, and ask yourself –are we not justified in our hate? – Shathra, a member of the Forsaken_

* * *

"Sylvanas Windrunner?" She repeated softly. "… That's an elf name, isn't it?"

"So it is, and it was the race she belonged to in life." Revlis nodded once. "Until Silvermoon was taken. There she fell, and was raised once again in service to the Lich King – another soldier to add to his countless ranks."

"… Then… then how did she come to lead these people?"

Revlis' eyes narrowed. "Something happened in Northrend. Powers that sought the Lich King's destruction cast a spell that shook the very roof of the world. And he began to weaken. Enough so that many of them were able to break free… their wills became their own, once again. As _Prince Arthas_ –" Revlis spat the name out, as if to speak it disgusted him. "Turned and departed for Northrend, Sylvanas stayed in Northrend. She smashed what remained of the Burning Legion's forces here and rallied the free Undead." He blew out a long breath. "And thus the Forsaken was created."

Amelia frowned. Something about the way he spoke the story… "You… you weren't one of them at that time? You used 'them'…"

"So I did." Revlis smiled softly. "Even weakened as he was, I was still unable to contend with the will of the Lich King. Another year or so I was enslaved – until one day I broke free. By what design I do not know, but…" He turned and looked away. "Let us be grateful for what occurred. That is enough."

It was late evening, and as they walked towards the town square of Brill, Amelia couldn't help but glance around her, noting the appearance of her fellow undead. A few of them were horrific to look upon – skin all but rotted away, hollow eye sockets, loose strips of flesh dangling about their bones, being dragged on the ground. Other appeared like Revlis – they seemed to be largely normal but for several obvious signs such as a gaping wound that would never heal, an arm stripped of flesh. And still there were others who looked almost entirely alive – if not for the grey pall of their flesh and the eerie light that burned in their eyes.

In a moment of shock, Amelia realized that was exactly what she looked like right now. The wave of despairing emotion temporarily shook her, but she shook her head, willing herself to be strong.

"…Revlis?"

"Yes?"

"Um... our eyes…"

Revlis nodded. "Whatever magic made us also caused them to be such." He paused as he saw a puddle by the roadside. "Go on." He said softly. "Take a look."

Hesitantly, Amelia leaned over, peering into the water. Despite the murkiness of the image, she was easily able to make out twin orbs of sapphire light where her eyes should have been.

Trying to appear less shaken then she really was, Amelia drew in a deep breath and nodded to Revlis. "Inter… interesting." She managed.

Revlis barked out a short laugh. "You're terrible at keeping your emotions inside you." He said by way of explanation. His expression softened and he reached out a hand. "Come on. There're a few people I want you to meet."

* * *

The meeting point for Revlis' crew was apparently a hut near the far end of Brill, surrounded by several trees leveled off neatly into mere stumps. As she approached, she couldn't help but feel apprehensive.

Revlis hopped up onto a tree stump, using the added height to scan the surroundings. "Not here yet? She heard him murmur.

Clutching her hands protectively to her chest, she took a couple of hesitant steps forward. "Revlis? Maybe… maybe you could tell me more about these 'people' first. I mean, they're undead like us, ri-"

"Oh, there you are!" Revlis was looking behind her. "What took you so long?"

Automatically, she turned – and her eyes widened as she beheld perhaps the one living race that could strike as much fear into her heart as any of the Lich King's minions.

"O- orc…" She whimpered. She took a step back, lost her balance, and fell, one hand already held up to ward off the inevitable attack. There was no human alive who hadn't been told countless tales of the brutal savagery of these creatures – of how close they had come to ravaging all humanity, and wiping it from the face of the world. And now one stood before her, a massive battleaxe nearly as big as herself strapped to his back. She squeezed her eyes shut, praying the end would be swift.

A long, uncomfortable silence passed before she noticed that she wasn't being brutally assaulted. Hardly daring to believe, she cracked one eye open, then the other.

The orc still stood over her, arms folded, a towering mountain of green flesh and muscle. Were it not for the slight rise and fall of his chest, she could easily have mistaken him for a meticulously crafted statue.

His beady eyes were inclined so that he could look down on her – and to Amelia, his expression was unreadable. Not that it mattered. Trying not to make any sudden movements, she began to inch away from him slowly.

A screech of laughter caused her to jump, where from a nearby tree, a voice, not entirely sane, rang out.

"A – _HA_! Toldja, mon!" Arn'Jin was crouched on the thick branch of said tree, grinning devilishly, his amber orbs aflame with mischievous delight. "She looks at me, doesn't bat an eye. But when she looks atcha greenskins – she falls over!" He stepped forward lithely, landing on the soil in front of the orc.

"Hardly something to boast about." Gjoln commented as he leaned against a tree, watching the proceedings. "The orcs have a special place in the nightmares of humans." He shifted his gaze to the orc. "Or rather _had_, in some areas."

Amelia cowered, glancing uncertainly back and forth. What was going on? The two of them spoke of the orc as if he were and _ally_. But – but that was impossible – the orcs were foul, bloodthirsty-

She felt strong hands seizing her by the shoulders, pulling her to her feet. "Sorry, I should have warned you about this beforehand." Revlis said apologetically, gently guiding her further away. Turning towards the orc, he nodded. "It's been too long, Jiron."

The orc – Jiron – nodded once and returned his attention to Arn'Jin. "Well, _you're_ still around." He spoke in a rough voice. "And since you're undoubtedly the weakest link in this tiny group of ours, I suppose that means our band has been doing well enough."

Arn'Jin grinned and waved an arm at Amelia. "Just got back from a retrieval mission, eh? Picked up a newcomer, too. Needed to be sneaky, too! Couldn't have brought you along, you'd have shook the earth with every step you took, mon!" He threw his head back and guffawed.

All of a sudden, the earth _did_ shake. Roiling, it formed a hump directly under where Arn'Jin had been standing, toppling the undead troll over and sending him sprawling onto the floor. In an instant, Arn'Jin had tucked himself into a roll and found safe purchase on the soil again, one hand gripping a throwing axe tightly.

"That will be quite enough, Arn'Jin" A deep voice rumbled through the area. From behind Jiron came another orc – but this one was obviously old, his skin hanging loose in jowls about his face, his tusks yellowed with age. He seemed to be dressed in furred animal pelts – of what species, Amelia didn't have a clue. He carried no weapon, but seeing as he had apparently been the one to make the earth shake, she decided that adding a couple of steps to the already respectable difference between her and the orcs would be a prudent decision.

The troll shrugged elaborately and tucked his hand axe back onto his belt. "You always gotta spoil our fun, you know that, mon?"

"Ghun!" Revlis bowed. "It is a honour."

Ghun inclined his head slightly in a gesture of respect. "I'll take it you've looked after our little band of miscreants while I was gone."

"As well as could be hoped for."

"Revlis!" Amelia snapped, very worried and very, _very_ confused. "Tell me what's going on! Why are you allied with… with _orcs_?"

Gjoln shot a glance over at her direction. "Is such ignorance among the peasant-folk common? I should have thought the Forsaken-Horde alliance to be widespread knowledge by now."

"Garn!" Arn'Jin spat on the ground. "Just 'cuz you had some baronetcy when you still be livin', you think you can lord it over us, mon?"

"Both of you, be quiet." Revlis snapped. Turning to Amelia he indicated that she should sit down on the stump he had been standing on a moment prior. This she did so hesitantly.

"The Forsaken, as a whole, has been in an alliance with the Horde for some time now." Revlis said softly. "Sylvanas and Thrall – that's the orc leader – signed a peace treaty. We fight together on the battlefield, we share resources, and in any land held by the Forsaken, the Horde is allowed to move freely through."

"But- " She turned towards the two orcs. "But _why_? Why would side with bloodthirsty, savage brutes like them?"

Revlis didn't reply immediately, turning instead to Jiron. "Hey, you hear that? She just called you 'bloodthirsty, savage brutes'."

Jiron let out a grunt that might have been a snort of amusement, but Ghun's eyes darkened. "She is not wrong to think of us as such." He said softly.

"You, of all people?" Revlis snorted. "Ghun of the Frostwolf clan? You never partook of the demon's blood."

"The shame is in no way diminished that I was not _allowed_ to drink." Ghun bared his teeth, but Amelia could sense his anger was aimed at himself. "Had my chieftain given his consent, I would have done so – and done so eagerly."

Amelia's head was spinning. "Demon's blood? Drink it? What's – what's that supposed to mean?"

Ghun turned his eyes on her, and Amelia couldn't help but feel them to be… familiar, somehow. It took her a few seconds to realize that she had seen that look before – on Revlis' face. The look of one long stooped with burdens of the past.

There was a short silence and then Ghun let out a long sigh. "Yes, I suppose you have a right to know, young one." He walked over and rested himself onto another stump. "Yes, you should know…"

"Haha! We havin' storytime, eh?" Arn'Jin cackled and folded his legs, settling himself onto the ground. Jiron folded his arms, once again impassive. Gjoln glanced away, looking further into the woods. Meanwhile, Revlis walked over and sat down next to Amelia, eyes pensive.

"Once, not so very long ago," Ghun spoke. "We lived on another world. It was called Draenor by another race of inhabitants – we never cared much about what to name it, and thus we called it the world of Draenor as well. There, as now, we were a race of warriors – known to revel in the spray of blood and the crack of bone." Amelia winced at the mental image of a pack of orcs doing just that – and tried unsuccessful to remove the image of herself being the target of their bloodlust.

"The 'magic' we practiced was the magic of the Shamans – the great balance of nature. We respected and revered the world around us, and in return the Spirits allowed us to call upon them as allies – whether to strike down our foes with lightning or to heal grievous wounds with nature's power. Our society was at a noble one, in which none took more than he needed, where repayment of a debt went without saying – where all had a place in our clans." Ghun's lowered his head. "And then the demons came."

"They offered our leaders untold power, and our leaders accepted, with the sole exception of Durotan, of the Frostwolves. But it came with a terrible price. Our beings – our very souls, were twisted to raging bloodlust. The practice of Shamanism – the practice of harmony with the spirits of nature – was abolished, and in its place came the dark fires of demonic magic. We slaughtered the Draenei, bathed the land in their blood – and when there were no longer any foes to fight, we turned our axes and dark spells upon our own kin. Given enough time, we would have killed ourselves. The very world began to become tainted with the darkness – the plants withered, the wildlife began to die off, the waters were fouled." The elder shaman's eyes glinted. "And then came the dream."

"Gul'dan, greatest of the warlocks, was visited by a human wizard in his sleep. He showed Gul'dan a world. A world teeming with abundant life – plentiful water, great beasts that could be used as food, and perhaps most of all – a race of soft pinkskins living quiet lives as farmers and stablehands – easy targets for our murderous rage."

Amelia's eyes widened in shock as realization hit. "Then… then…" She stammered.

"A portal was constructed between the worlds, and we poured through. Around that time, the Frostwolf Clan was exiled for the knowledge of our chieftain – that the blood we had drunk was accursed, that our race was tainted by demons. We made our home in the mountains – and there we befriended the white wolves of Alterac."

"Still, with or without us, the Horde raged on, putting town and city to endless ruin. But the pinkskins – the humans," Ghun's teeth stretched into a smile. "Proved more resilient than we thought."

"Eventually, the Horde lost – the survivors were thrown into internment camps, and that seemed to be the end. Cut off from the demon magics that fueled our bloodlust, the orcs lost all sense of will and hope – they became lethargic, sluggish beasts. Pah!" Ghun spat at the ground. "Only Grom Hellscream and his Warsong Clan evaded capture – and only he and his clan refused to give up their pride, their will. They remained strong, even cut off from the hellish fire that had once empowered them. Still, a single clan does not make an army worth speaking off, and all hope seemed lost."

Ghun smiled, dredging up old memories. "And then one day, out of the blizzard of the mountains you humans call Alterac, a lost orc, stumbling with exhaustion, hunger and cold, came upon our clan of the Frostwolves. Around his belt was a swaddling cloth marked with the symbol of our clan. We later learnt him to be the son of our departed chieftain Durotan and his courageous mate, Draka. The two had set off on a journey to warn their old friend Orgrim Doomhammer – of the role the demons had to play in the Horde's history, and what would inevitably occur should the orcs continue down their dark path."

Amelia started at this. The name of Orgrim Doomhammer was not unfamiliar to her. He was said to be a demon on the battlefield, and even the legendary Sir Lothar had fallen to him in single combat. Somehow, knowing this made the history seem all the more alive.

"For this, they paid with their lives. Gul'dan's hired assassins ambushed them and cut them down in the woods. For some reason, they spared Durotan's child, perhaps thinking forest beasts would feast on the baby and save them trouble." Ghun paused. "But that did not happen."

"That orc was found by humans – and they took him in, raised him to be a gladiator in their arenas. They gave him the name 'Thrall' to symbolize his status – that of a slave." Ghun's eyes hardened. "But Thrall escaped. He went first to the internment camps, and was dismayed that the race he had always long to see – his people – were befuddled and downtrodden. Next he found the Warsong Clan in the wilds, and was overjoyed to meet orcs who could still remember their days of pride and honour. Finally, Grom Hellscream told him of the Frostwolf clan – and he came to us."

"He was tested by Drek'Thar – one of the few left whom the Spirits would deign to aid – and found worthy. He became the first of the new line of shamans." Amelia noted a tiny glint in the corner of the old orc's eye. "The Spirits had, at long last, forgiven us for our blood pact with the demons."

"And then one day, a stranger entered the encampment of the Frostwolves. He was grateful to receive hospitality, but he sneered at Thrall's dream of freeing the orcs in the internment camps. Angered, Thrall challenged the stranger to a duel, and won. It was only then that the stranger revealed himself to be Warchief Orgrim Doomhammer. He had merely wished to test Thrall's resolve, and he was pleased by what he saw. Together, they swore to set their brethren free."

Ghun paused to drink from a skin of water hanging by his belt. "The attacks went well – but in one of the many skirmishes, the Warchief Doomhammer was slain. With his dying breath, he named Thrall his successor, the next Warchief of the Horde."

Amelia noted that everyone else was paying rapt attention, despite the fact that they had likely heard this story before.

"We freed the majority of our brethren – and then the Warchief was visited by a prophet, telling him to depart these lands – to head for the ancient realm of Kalimdor. We did so, and there we found humans." Ghun snorted. "At first, we crossed blades with them – but then the same prophet appeared, telling us to halt. For the sake of all life, orc and human had to join forces and fight as one."

Amelia started at this. Orcs and humans… fighting side by side. The very thought of it repulsed her.

"Yes, I responded much like you did, at first." Ghun grinned as he observed Amelia, showing a mouthful of teeth. "The thought of allying myself with these cruel, heartless monsters-"

"WHAT?" Amelia leapt to her feet. "How could you – You're the ones who attacked and slaughtered us! You're the ones who-"

"Amelia!" Revlis' voice cracked like a whip.

"No, let her speak." Ghun said smoothly. Then, turning to Amelia, his eyes narrowed. "The first time any orc ever saw a human was when one offered to betray his race, and give us free passage to an unsuspecting world. The next time we met them was on the field of battle – and believe me, human warriors will be as cunning and deceitful as any orc if need be in order to eke out victory. Later, a king sold out his nation and his allies to us – and in orcish culture, to betray your own kin is a dishonour too great for words. And still later, when the war was lost, the humans who threw the orcs into internment camps treated my race as filth – daily beatings, barely enough food to live on, made to think we were lower than dirt. Up to that point, our interactions with humans did not give us much cause to think highly of them." A low rumble sounded at the back of Ghun's throat, and Amelia instinctively shifted position so she was further away from him. "We at least had the corruption of demons as an excuse – if not a justification. What reason do _you_ have?"

"We – we… not all humans are like that!" Amelia retorted. "Many of us know how to care and love and… and how to look after each other."

"Yes," Ghun nodded. "And so I learned from our truce with the humans on Kalimdor. The Warchief, when raised by humans, had received kindness, guidance, and mercy from several of them. This helped him to accept the alliance more eagerly." Ghun closed his eyes. "Being forced into a life-and-death position with a human at my side certainly helped improve my own perception of them."

* * *

"_The skies! They're burning!"_

_Ghun risked a momentary glance upwards at the fiery red of the sky – a second before he was forced back into combat against one of his own kin._

_With a growl, Ghun swung the claws on his arm in a wide arc, tearing open the chest of the orc in front of him. The redskinned brute let out a yell and stumbled back._

"_Weakling!" The roar came from behind, and Ghun turned, barely in time to see and avoid an axe blow aimed at his head. Before he could retaliate, a gleaming sword point erupted from the chest of the enemy orc._

_The human soldier behind him yanked his sword out. "Pay more attention, greenie!" He growled._

_Ghun was about to fire back a sharp retort when a cry came from around him. "Look! Up there!"_

_Ghun shifted his gaze back up, just in time to see what appeared to be a massive rock, blazing with green fire, hurtle earthwards._

_Something stirred deep in his memory. He'd seen these before. Long ago… on Draenor… when the Warlocks had been granted heightened powers…_

"_TAKE COVER!" He roared hoarsely._

_The Infernal slammed into the ground, creating a massive shockwave that sent many of the warriors stumbling to the earth. Ghun had managed to get himself out of the radius of the shockwave, but as he glanced back, he could see the human footman who'd saved him earlier struggling to get to his feet. And from behind came a harsh roar as the Infernal straightened up, standing tall. Eyes alight with malice, he began to charge the hapless soldier._

"_Rrgh…" Silently, Ghun sent a call to the earth, asking it for aid. In response, the ground around the Infernal turned to mud, stumbling and slowing the demon. Rushing over, the orc grabbed the human footman and dragged him to his feet._

"_Stay sharp!" The Infernal finally managed to struggle its way out of the mud, and with a renewed fury in his actions, charged the two of them._

_Ghun growled and started to ask the Spirits for aid once again when the human leapt directly in front of him, sword at the ready._

"_No, you idiot!" Ghun called, but it was too late. The Infernal swung down-_

_And the human barely dodged the fist, dodging to the side to ram his blade deep into the flaming rock that comprised the Infernal's leg._

"_Hurry up with whatever magic you've got, orc!" The human snapped as he jumped back in time to avoid another swing of the Infernal's arm._

"_Spirit of Fire, aid me now…" Ghun muttered raising his arms to the sky._

_Abruptly, the green flames wreathing the Infernal increased tenfold in size and intensity. With an oath, the human, who had been preparing for another charge, stepped back._

"_What did you do!" He yelled, but as he did so, the Infernal screamed, the flames now consuming the Infernal itself, searing through the black rock._

_Finally, naught but blackened ash remained, and Ghun slumped over, breathing heavily._

"_I suppose my age is showing." He mumbled to no one in particular. Glancing up, he noted with some chagrin that he and the human were the only ones left alive of their particular band._

"_The presence of demons changes things." He mumbled wearily. "We should go back and inform our respective chieftains."_

_Not inclined to argue for once, the human nodded, and the two of them began their long trek back._

_

* * *

_

_Night had fallen, and Ghun stood over the slight rise, watching the fires of the Warsong clan burn in the distance._

_He frowned. Why now? They had come all this way to Kalimdor… and now the demons had apparently followed. The blood pact that once bound the orcs called to them again. He'd noticed the red-eyed ones – those who had partaken of demon's blood – becoming more irritable and snappish lately, as well. They had to find the source of the corruption, and fast, before-_

"_Hey, orc."_

_He turned. Behind him was the human he'd fought alongside earlier that day. "Yes, human?" He asked warily._

_The human shrugged, scratching at the back of his neck. "Thanks for the save back there."_

_Ghun grinned. "And my thanks to you for the one earlier."_

"_Yeah. So, uh… what's your name?"_

"_Ghun, of the Frostwold Clan."_

"_That's… a nice name, I guess. Mine's Kardeth Siril. Say, I was planning on asking you something, if you don't mind."_

_Ghun shrugged. "Ask."_

"_Well, you see, some of my older mates fought against your kind in the Second War, and they seem… well, they seem rather surprised at the magic you folks are using. They say that last time, you were able to… I dunno, call dark fires, raise skeletons… that sort of thing. Not turn the field to mud like that."_

_Ghun nodded. "Long ago, before the demons came… this was the 'magic' we practiced. Harmony with the world and the Spirits. Now we have returned to those roots." It wasn't always so. Ghun had used demon magic before – when the Spirits had finally abandoned the orcs in their fury and disappointment. And even after he had rejected demonic practices utterly, the Spirits had refused to come to his aid. Only recently had he been able to converse with them once more. Ghun smiled softly. It had been much like meeting with an old friend that one had not seen in many years._

"_So… you're saying that not all orcs are like the ones in the Second War?"_

_Ghun snorted and pointed towards the Warsong encampment. "See that?" He asked. "That is the corruption. And we who stand here now are those who wish never to return to that again."_

_There was a long silence as human and orc stood there, gazing down at a future both had resolved to do everything in their power to prevent from occurring._

* * *

"He was my first human friend." Ghun said softly. "Through him, I learnt of the ways of humans – of their nobility and spirit. Through me, he learnt of the ways of the orcs – proud warriors of the battlefield."

"Soon after, we succeeded in removing the demonic corruption from our race – once and for all. We then ventured deeper into Ashenvale Forest to ascertain whether the threat of demons still lingered – and there we met the night elves. We banded together to prevent the demons from overrunning the world – the Last Alliance, some called it."

He let out a dry laugh. "Four years later, and look where we are now." He paused and sighed. "Anyway, after the battle, we each went our own way. The humans in Kalimdor founded Theramore Isle off the coast – the night elves returned to the forests of Ashenvale, and we settled in the south, where Thrall found the city of Orgrimmar, named in honour of Doomhammer."

He paused. "And that's the tale of how the orcs came to be as we are today. After a while, our Warchief received an offer of peace between us and the Forsaken. He agreed to that pact, and that's where we are today: As allies."

Amelia was silent for a long while, thinking about what Ghun had just told her. Suddenly, a cackle interrupted the silence of the leafy grove.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Allies!" Arn'Jin grinned. "Allies, mon! At least until we finish our new Plague that'll work on _all_ beings! And then you orcs be going down too!"

Then the troll threw his head back, laughing long and loud.

* * *

Several hours later, Amelia paused at the entrance to the room Revlis was in. He had offered lodging for the foreseeable future, and she had gratefully accepted.

Now though, she was plagued with questions. Hesitantly, she stepped through the doorway. "Revlis?"

He was hunched over a book, eyes flitting back and forth attentively. "Yes?" He replied.

Though it was nighttime, Amelia found that her eyesight was not in the least bit diminished. And apparently neither was Revlis – there was no candle on desk he was sitting at.

"I was… I was wondering about what Arn'Jin said earlier…"

"Oh, about the Plague thing?" Revlis nodded. "Anyone who stays among the Forsaken long enough hears rumours about the Royal Apothecary Society. They wish to make a Plague that will infect not only the living, but the Scourge as well. And the orcs are likely to be included in the species the new Plague affects, when all's said and done."

"But… but…" Amelia's head was spinning. "But we're… allies, aren't we?"

Revlis closed his one remaining eye – the ball of light in the other one shrunk down to a pinprick of illumination. "Who knows." He sighed. "The process of becoming Undead – and moreso, serving under the Lich King – affects us, Amelia. The scars run deep. Even one such as Sylvanas was likely twisted – although she probably won't admit it."

Amelia shook her head. "And – and the orcs – do they know?"

"Well, you heard Arn'Jin, and so did Jiron and Ghun. Their Warchief suspects the Forsaken as a whole, too. But he cannot, in good faith, refuse their offer for an alliance; more than any other race in Azeroth, the orcs know what it means to be held in thrall of the forces of darkness." He smiled a crooked smile. "And so it is a dangerous game the orcs play. A very dangerous game indeed."

Amelia wasn't sure she wanted to venture any further into the world of political intrigues, and so she changed tack. She noticed that Revlis was writing into the thick leather bound book. "What's that?"

"Hm? Oh, this?" Revlis patted the yellowed page softly. "I suppose you could call it my diary."

"A diary?"

"Yeah." Revlis nodded. "It serves… as a reminder. Not to forget what I've… left behind." He paused for a moment, lost in memory. Then he roused himself and looked to Amelia. "If you've no other questions, you'd best get yourself some sleep. Our bodies may be tireless, but rest for our souls can often be the more important of the two."

"Actually…" Amelia began.

"Yes?"

"Just now, you mentioned that being undead, fighting under the Lich King… it twists you?"

"Yes. Yes, it does."

Amelia frowned. "But it's – you don't seem very 'twisted'. Arn'Jin, sure, although it may just be normal troll behaviour. But you… I sense something different." Her expression grew wistful. "You remind me of my older brother, in a way."

Revlis let out a snort of amusement. "I'll take that as a compliment. He still alive?"

"… No. The Undead took him, although… at least he was spared the indignity of being raised as one of them."

"I suppose."

"But you haven't answered my question." Amelia shook her head. "You don't seem very 'twisted'… why is that?"

Revlis shook his head, turned away. "Best you get to sleep."

"Revlis! Please…" She said softly. "Please tell me."

He remained silent, staring away from her. Finally, he sighed and answered.

"Guilt."

* * *

Thanks for reading. Please review. 


	4. Monster

Exist

* * *

Somehow, I feel this area would go down better had I anything of any substance to post.

Um, I like writing?

Oh yeah, for clarification's sake, if I say 'warrior', it does not denote the 'Warrior' class. If I refer to a specific class, it will be capitalized.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

* * *

Chapter 3: Monster

* * *

_How long has it been since I could remember the feel of warmth? The light of the sun seems cold mockery to me now. I cannot taste the food in my mouth, I have to be ever vigilant against tearing my skin, and where my heart should beat is but empty silence. Sometimes it is all I can do to remain lucid, to retain my grasp on sanity. I occupy my days with any endless number of tasks, certain that if I were left to myself to ponder the implications of what I've become, I would go mad. So this is existence as one of the undead. Unbearable. – From the diary of the Forsaken, Revlis_

* * *

The morning sun had sent golden streamers of light into the quiet stillness of the wooden hut before Revlis tapped Amelia on the shoulder, waking her from her slumber.

She sat up, rubbing her eyes, and registering that she felt no drowsiness whatsoever. One of the myriad effects of being undead, she supposed. With a sigh, she swung her legs over onto the floor and turned her gaze towards Revlis.

"Had a good rest?" He questioned softly.

"Fine, thanks." She smiled hesitantly. "Your bed was rather comfortable."

He snorted briefly with laughter. "You mean you can tell? We're undead. We lack all but the most basic of tactile functions." He nodded. "It's nice that you want to be polite and all, but you'd best get used to some of the… changes that's happened, or you're going to be caught in lies very easily." He paused, looked at her, and grinned. "Judging by your expression, I'd say you'd be blushing pretty furiously if you could."

Amelia let out a frustrated sigh and shook her head. "If you're going to spend your time being mean, then leave me alone and find someone else to bother."

Revlis held up both hands in a placating manner. "No, you misunderstood me. I'm just offering you some advice."

Amelia's face twitched slightly – and from annoyance or amusement, she wasn't too sure. "Anyway," she begun, trying to change the subject. "What exactly does an undead… um, do? I mean…" She stammered, not wanting to offend him.

Thankfully, Revlis seemed to understand. "Well," He scratched the back of his head. "If you want, you can always find a job or something. Work in a store, run errands… most of the stuff one would do in a more… lively setting."

Amelia blinked. She hadn't, well, she hadn't been expecting a response like that…

Revlis noticed her expression and chuckled. "Let me guess. You thought us undead spent the majority of the time standing around watching body parts rot away and mumbling incoherently."

Not bothering to answer, Amelia merely ducked her head, offering silent confirmation. It seemed lately that all she did was jump to conclusions, making herself look stupid in the process.

Revlis folded his arms. "Look, I know it's not easy for you, adjusting to something like this. You'll probably end up making a lot more gaffes when all's said and done. But if you'll just stick with it, you'll learn quickly. Alright?"

She managed a tiny smile as she looked up into his glowing eyes. "Okay." She nodded.

As she stood, a thought struck her. "What about you, Revlis? What do you work as?"

He smiled wanly. "I suppose you could call me an adventurer or mercenary. I pick up missions here and there, roam the lands, take part in some battles…" He shook his head. "No shortage of _those_ nowadays."

Then he turned, stepping out of the room.

* * *

As Amelia emerged into the bright sunlight of day, she shivered slightly. Quick glances around the area failed to locate Revlis for her. Shivering again, she chose that moment to pull her cloak tighter around herself.

Strange, she thought. It wasn't nearly the height of summer, but Autumn's chill should have yet to set in. It shouldn't have been quite so chilly out. Not to mention it had been rather bad last night as well.

Her sapphire orbs quickly sourced out what appeared to be a fire near the centre of the town, with several undead members huddling closely around it. Rubbing her hands together, she licked dry and cracked lips with a tongue that had no moisture whatsoever and headed for the fire.

She got two steps before a hand landed heavily on her shoulder. "Where are you going?" Revlis inquired curiously.

"The fire." She said softly.

Revlis frowned and shifted his gaze over to the burning wood. "I wouldn't advise that. Undead flesh catches fire extremely easy."

"But…" She shivered, pulled her cloak tighter around her. "But I'm cold."

"Oh." He closed his eye, looked away. "In that case, don't bother." The glowing orb of light that served as his right eye likewise shrunk down to a single point of light within the hollow socket. "You'll feel cold until the day we find True Death."

For a briefest instant, Amelia thought she could feel the chill around her intensify.

* * *

A week had passed without much incident. Amelia still found it difficult to adjust into the society of Brill – working alongside the decayed corpses of what had once been citizens of Lordaeron made her feel uneasy – not the least of which was the fact that she herself was no better.

That had led her to not having the slightest semblance of doing anything remotely productive. And it bothered her. Sure, no one, least of all, Revlis seemed to fault her for that. But, still…

As another day dawned, she sat up on her chair. With a deep breath, Amelia stood and headed out of the house to look for Revlis. She had made her decision.

* * *

"You want me to _what_?" He glanced up from the map he had been studying a moment ago.

Amelia swallowed, but nevertheless repeated her last statement. "I… I want to learn how to fight and defend myself. And… well, if you don't mind, I want you to teach me."

Revlis shook his head. "Somehow, I don't think you'll find the life of a fighter all that appealing."

"No, it's… it's just that I…" She sighed. "I wouldn't feel comfortable acting so… so…"

"Normal?" Revlis inquired wryly as he returned his gaze to the map.

"Well… yeah, in a place like this…" Out of the corner of her eye, she saw an undead boy that looked to have been ten years old at the time of his death run past, kicking a leather ball. Behind him, a stablehand, his skin almost entirely rotted away, led several undead horses towards the stables, grabbing their reins with a skeletal hand. "I mean… it just feels so… so _strange_."

"True." Revlis sighed. "Most have lived here for a while… gotten used to being undead and interacting with their fellow undead brethren." He nodded, rolling the map up. "Well, if you really want, I can start teaching you some basic combat techniques." His lips pulled back into a grin. "Luckily we don't get muscle aches, so we can proceed quite a bit faster than if you were still alive."

Amelia nodded. "Thanks." She said softly.

He shook his head. "Don't thank me just yet. I assure you, it's not going to be easy, whether or not you're in possession of a tireless body." He paused for a moment. ". I've got some errands to run today, so we'll start tomorrow morning. That okay with you?"

She nodded, smiled. "Yes."

* * *

She had been sleeping when she felt something hit her in the chest. Opening her eyes and sitting up, she looked down at a wooden sword that had fallen onto her lap

Revlis was leaning in the doorway, another wooden sword resting in his folded arms.

"You ready?"

"Anytime."

* * *

The majority of the undead didn't care much about fashion, figuring that as long as they covered up enough of their bodies to protect them from the wear and tear of the elements, they'd be fine. As such, most simply wrapped their bodies in whatever rags they could find, although the fighters had a tendency to value strong armour.

Amelia hadn't removed her own clothes since she'd 'turned', but now Revlis tossed her a leather tunic, along with some cloth pants. Although soiled, they were sturdy and usable.

In response to her questioning look, he shrugged.

"The clothes of a simple village girl aren't really what one wears in battle – and battle trainings, for that matter." He turned away. "I assume you'll want to be left alone for a while – I'll wait for you outside the house."

* * *

Amelia stepped out once more into the sleepy dawn of the town. Revlis apparently had a good eye – the clothes fit her comfortably, and the tough leather of the tunic would be helpful in dampening the impact of any blows she received (and she had the feeling that there were going to be many.)

As the two of them headed out into a relatively secluded area of the woods, Amelia silently wondered what her first lesson was going to be.

Finally, Revlis halted in a clearing and turned to face her. "First, we'll work on your stance."

She frowned. "My stance?"

He nodded. "Right. Where you centre your weight during a battle can be vital. You need to be able to keep your balance, turn quickly, counter blows." Bringing one hand up to his chin, he frowned. "Though, I'm unsure if a female's battle stance would be much different." He sighed. "Tell you what, we'll just try the standard for males first – if things don't work out, we'll work our way around."

"R-right."

Revlis nodded. "Okay, first, set yourself into what you _think_ is a good battle stance."

Hesitantly, Amelia did so. She was not encouraged by the fact that Revlis had to hide his mouth to cover a laugh.

"Okay, we can make some improvements." He finally said. "Here, try this out…"

* * *

Several hours later, the sun had fully risen and was now spreading golden light among the clearing.

"Okay, shift your right leg back _slightly_ – right, that's fine." Revlis nodded. "You're getting it more naturally now. That's good."

"Th – thanks."

Revlis walked towards Amelia's front, holding his own practice weapon in a ready position. "Well, if you're prepared, then try attacking me."

"R – right." _Here goes nothing._ Mustering up her strength, she swung at her opponent.

He parried the blow, the force of his strike easily overpowering her own. With a gasp, she staggered back slightly, but was able to retain her balance.

Revlis grinned, the green orbs that passed for his eyes twinkling slightly. "You see? Under other circumstances, you'd have been sent sprawling, leaving you completely helpless. You staggered – that means you still don't possess the necessary physical strength – but otherwise, it was pretty good."

She smiled, feeling oddly elated. "Thanks for teaching me."

"It's no problem." He ran a hand through his brown hair – faded to the colour of flax. "Just keep practicing. If you want to be a warrior, this sort of thing has to become second nature to you."

"I will."

"Good. We can continue tomorrow. I've some other work to do right now."

"All right. Take care, Revlis."

"You too, Amelia."

* * *

The routine developed quickly. In the early morning, Revlis and Amelia would head out, and he'd impart some of his combat experience and knowledge to her. Once afternoon came, he'd leave for the day to attend to whatever tasks he had to do, while she would practice her fighting skills, or perhaps take a walk.

Being undead had its share of benefits, she had to grudgingly admit – one didn't feel hungry, and thus didn't need to eat. However, in the times when she _did_ partake in meals, she had been utterly unable to taste the food. It was ostensibly meat of some kind, but for all Amelia knew, it might as well have had been made of baked mud.

Once in a while, she allowed her mind to wander, and she thought about what Revlis did in the afternoon. Most evenings when he returned, along with Arn'Jin, Gjoln, and the Orcs, he was covered in blood, and the weapons of the party were equally stained. He had obviously been fighting, but against whom, Amelia could only guess.

Over time, she started standing at the town entrance as dusk began to settle upon the land, glancing about for him and his band to make their return. As she spotted the telltale orbs of light that signified the approach of undead, she would step out, meeting them several feet in front of the entrance. She would offer to carry anything that might be burdening him, and he would decline with a brief shake of his head and a smile.

Today was no different. A blustery Autumn day, and as she leaned against a wooden post, watching as the wind swirled strongly around her, she didn't feel it being any more chilly than normal. She closed her sapphire orbs and sighed.

As she opened her eyes, she saw six lights in the distance. A smile graced her face and she stepped forward. However, the smile quickly faded as they came closer, and into better view.

Revlis was carrying a young boy – approximately 13 years of age. He was shivering slightly, and as Amelia watching, the lad's body jerked as he coughed uncontrollably. A clammy greyness seemed to have fallen on the boy's flesh.

With a lurching sensation in her stomach, she suddenly realized where she had last seen such signs. She took a shaky step backwards.

Revlis offered her a comforting look before turning to the town guards. "Found him to the south. No sign of any other bodies."

"Scarlet Crusade?"

"Could be, but doesn't look it. Nothing to show he's with them."

"All right. Pass." Revlis nodded to the rest of his group, and they stepped into town. Amelia hurried after him.

"Revlis, what-"

He shook his head. "Amelia… I think you'd best return to the house. We can talk later."

* * *

Several hours later, as she waited fretfully in the house, she saw Revlis enter. He sighed once before settling down onto a chair.

"Revlis, what happened? Is the boy…"

"He's fine." Her friend looked away. "Still a bit shell-shocked. Still, I was able to gather some information about who he was when he was still… alive." He ran a hand through his hair, the twin balls of yellow-green light glowing with peculiar intensity. "Apparently, his parents were killed and raised as Undead. He thus attempted to come to the lands of the Forsaken in hopes of locating his parents." Revlis sighed. "Didn't take two steps through the Plaguelands before he was infected."

"But his parents…"

"They could be anywhere, and named anything by now." Revlis chuckled bitterly. "And that's assuming they're not Scourge."

Amelia swallowed. There was silence in the house for several minutes until Revlis spoke up again.

"We've talked it over, and once the boy's recovered enough… we're striking out for Undercity."

"Undercity?" Amelia echoed. Her time spent among the Forsaken had allowed her to know of the place. A city built underground, it was the Capital of what remained the Undead Forsaken, and where the Banshee Queen, Sylvanas, held her dark throne. Even though she knew she would be accepted within, the thought of those dark halls made her shudder. "Why there?"

"It has the closest semblance to records worth speaking anything about in all the Forsaken realms. With that information, we stand out best chance at tracking down his parents."

She sat, contemplating the matter for several seconds before speaking up. "In that case… could I come with you?"

Revlis grinned slightly. "I'd be honoured to have you as a companion for that trip, Amelia."

* * *

Amelia later learnt that the lad had adopted the name 'Rahkal'. She had no idea if it held any significance to him, and she didn't really care either way. She had wanted to ask him about his original name, but Revlis had surreptitiously shook his head 'no' and so she had let the matter drop.

Now the seven of them were traveling through Tirisfal Glades. They had done so for several days now, trekking steadily through the night since Undead didn't really require sleep, and the two Orcs were hardy creatures by nature.

Thus far, the walk had been uneventful, aside from Arn'Jin grumbling about why they couldn't simply have made the journey by air.

Now, though, they had finally halted for a rest, and Amelia sat down. Rahkal had kept to himself for most of the trip and like her, had tried his best to stay far away from the Orcs without actually looking like he was trying to stay far away from the Orcs. She did feel marginally more comfortable around Ghun, but Jiron… she shook her head. As far as she could tell, the tales of the Orcs reforming themselves had merit, but she still felt uneasy around them.

Just as she felt uneasy around most of the Undead.

She sighed and looked in Revlis' direction. He was keeping a steady vigil for any potential threats, constantly scanning the misty forests. Among all of the Undead, he was the only one she felt truly at ease with. His gentle humour and words of comfort had served to make them fast friends.

She turned back to face the group, just before she heard Revlis give a cry of alarm.

"Scarlet Crusade! To arms!"

Instantly all battle-worthy members of the group were on their feet. Ghun bared his teeth.

"Jiron! Protect Rahkal and Amelia! The rest, spread out!"

She could see the dark shapes moving in between the dead trees of the forest. She stood tensely, one hand tightly gripping the dagger Revlis had given her.

The first of the soldiers leapt from the trees, aiming a horizontal slash at Revlis' head. Gjoln intersected the blow with a pair of daggers, and quickly cut out the heart of his foe.

Arn'Jin's arms were a whirling blur as he plucked hand axes from his belt, hurling them with deadly accuracy. Three soldiers were slain in such a fashion, and when he had run out of throwable weapons, Arn'Jin unfastened a crude but sharpened spear from his back, rushing forth to meet a pair of foes that came at him with drawn blades.

Ghun closed his eyes, mumbling and sending out a call to the Spirits. The tree branches suddenly swiped downwards, scattering the two spellcasters that had apparently joined up with the group.

Revlis' sword was little more than a silver blur as he batted away weapons from five incoming soldiers. Though he was severely outnumbered, Amelia could tell merely by the way the battle was being fought that he was their superior in combat ability. One foe, then another, fell quickly, fatal wounds evident on their chest and back.

"Look out!" Jiron snapped as he brought his battle-axe to bear, cleaving through a soldier that had attempted to sneak up behind them. Sensing movement out of the corner of her eye, Amelia yelped in alarm and drew her dagger, thrusting it in that direction.

She was rewarded with a gush of blood that spattered across her cheek. Her opponent staggered back, the dark gash on his throat evidence that he hadn't been prepared for the girl to offer and resistance. His weapon fell from limp fingers, and soon he slumped to the ground.

"Gngh!" Before she could properly reflect on what she had just done, she heard a strangled cry. One of the soldiers had apparently charged, managing to knock the sword from Revlis' hand. Now the two struggled, Revlis trying to prevent his foe from being his own blade on the Forsaken one's crown.

The others were occupied with their own foes – there was no one to help him. Reluctantly, Amelia grasped her dagger again, rushing to his aid.

Before she could reach him, however, Revlis had managed to shift enough of his weight that he was able to push his foe back, slamming him against a tree with bone-rattling force. The soldier slumped to the ground, the fight obviously knocked out of him.

She slowed, gazing at the stunned fighter. With a groan, he tried to pull himself up, but he had obviously hurt something. Troublesome, she thought. If they were going to take him prisoner, best he should be able to walk

Her attention was diverted by Revlis crouching to pick up his own blade. Once it was in his possession again, he turned back towards the hapless soldier. It took a moment for Amelia to recognize the deadly intent in his eyes. Her own eyes widened. Was he-

As he strode towards the man, the soldier raised his arm feebly. He rasped out, "Mercy-"

And then Revlis brought the sword slashing down.

Stepping back from the corpse, he turned to survey the rest of the fight. Those that could had fled. None of the Scarlet Crusaders in the vicinity were still alive. Amelia stood stock still, looking at the cooling body. Her mind in a whirl. Something was… this wasn't… Something deep inside her screamed that this was very, very wrong.

"We were lucky." Revlis' calm voice sounded through the air. "These were relatively new fighters. They weren't very good." He shook his head. "Get a pyre and burn them; I'm not risking some Scourge lackey walking by and reanimating-"

"You killed him." Amelia finally managed to speak, staring at the man.

"Hm?" Revlis turned back to face his last kill. "Oh, yeah, I did. He won't be bothering us-"

"But he…" She spoke slowly, trying to wrap her brain around the correct words. "He was helpless. He couldn't do anything to defend himself. We…we don't do that."

Revlis' eyes hardened. "Is that so?" He spoke quietly. His gaze shifted to the body of the one Amelia had killed. "You don't seem overly concerned that you fought and slew one yourself."

"That's… that's different!" Amelia snapped. "You were perfectly willing to slaughter that man like he was no better than a pig or-"

"Enough!" Revlis said, cold fury evident in his words. The others had gone completely silence. "You don't understand! The Scarlet Crusade hate us for existing! If I had showed him 'mercy', it would have made no difference to him whatsoever – the next time we met, you can be certain that he would have my head if he could manage it. To those fanatics, any who _come into contact_ with the Undead are tainted and must die! They think that I – that all of us here – are no better than monsters!"

"Congratulations." Amelia replied, injecting every bit of venom she could muster into her voice. "You just proved him right."

Then she turned, running as fast as she could into the deep woods, ignoring the calls for her to stop.

* * *

Thank you for reading. Please review. 


	5. Trap

Exist

* * *

If you have a DS or a PSP, and are not playing Puzzle Quest, you're either poor, or you suck. Seriously. I'm not even kidding.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

* * *

Chapter 4: Hidden

* * *

_It is a strange dilemma we Orcs face. We have allied ourselves with the undead, and though they are have free will, there is an undeniable core of darkness that still enshrouds them. There are of course many in our ranks who mutter that we would be better off without having such undead at our side, but we Orcs, who have long been in thrall to dark powers too, cannot abandon such creatures that need us now, be they human or elves in life. And of course, if by allying ourselves with them, we are able to turn even one Forsaken away from whatever dark machinations brew within Undercity, I will not consider out alliance to have been in vain. – Ghun, Orcish Shaman_

* * *

"…I suppose the only question remaining is whether or not she or you was the one to overreact."

"Enough, Gjoln." Revlis said tersely. "I'm not in the mood for this. Burn those corpses."

Ghun had already complied, calling upon the Spirit of Fire to set many of the carcasses aflame. Jiron moved quickly, grabbing onto any dead bodies that had not yet caught fire and dumping them onto bodies that had.

"Still, though. She's just one lass in the woods, and she's still not that good at knifework." Ghun rumbled. "Best you go after her, Revlis."

"Why me?" Revlis snapped, chartreuse orbs flaring. "In case you people don't remember, she yelled in my face for doing what any warrior does on the battlefield. Besides," he continued. "Even if I did run after her, I doubt she'd be receptive to coming back with me. Arn'Jin…"

"Aw, hells, mon." The undead Troll snapped. "I go, but you betta damn well be prepared to make up or whatever when I bring her back." With a bound of his powerful leg muscles, the Troll leapt into the trees, swinging through the branches with casual ease.

"Revlis…" Ghun said softly.

"I know what I'm doing, Ghun."

Whatever reply the aged Orc was about to make, it was interrupted by a canine howl that echoed through the gloomy woods.

Revlis' eyes widened as all of the people in the clearing shifted around, trying to discern the source of the noise. After a moment, Jiron growled, stating what they all knew.

"Gnolls."

"…Amelia." Revlis said softly. It took several seconds before the others realized that he had already charged off into the undergrowth.

"…Great." Ghun sighed. "Jiron, I and Gjoln will stay to guard Rahkal. Go after the others."

The younger Orc nodded once and headed off into the woods.

Ghun rubbed his eyes tiredly. He had a distinct feeling that perhaps he was getting entirely too old for this sort of thing…

* * *

Revlis kept up the steady pace, his undead eyes picking up the trail Amelia had left behind her on her clumsy dash through the woods. Up ahead, he fancied he could hear the sounds of battle.

With shocking suddenness, he burst into a clearing, and he beheld a scene of carnage. Five undead gnolls were engaged in pitched battle against Arn'Jin, who was wielding his spear with deadly skill. Even as Revlis made his arrival, Arn'Jin scored another kill, dumping the desiccated corpse on the forest floor.

"Ha, so you showed up after all, mon!" Arn'Jin chortled cheerfully as he knocked aside another sword aimed at his midsection.

"Oh, be quiet." Revlis mumbled as he drew his sword. Past Arn'Jin, he could make out the form of Amelia, curled up on the forest floor, and clutching a wounded arm.

It wouldn't hurt and he could tend to it later, Revlis decided. With a single sword strike, he cut off the head of the gnoll closest to him, and the body collapsed. The head rolled and bounced, the gnoll's glowing eyes staring at him with undisguised hatred until Revlis crushed it beneath his boot.

Just as he was about to rejoin the melee, he spotted a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye.

* * *

Sneaking up wasn't something most gnolls were good at doing, and this particular one wasn't much different. It had merely arrived late to the fight, and in a location perilously close to the defenseless Amelia (her knife had been lost when she earlier plunged it into the neck of a gnoll, and it had jerked away, taking the dagger with it).

The gnoll's yellow eyes flamed with malice, and it lunged at her. Amelia cried out in surprise and fear, falling backwards as she raised an arm up to ward off the blow.

There was a flash of argent light, so bright that even Amelia's undead eyes couldn't withstand it, and she turned away. After a long moment of silence, she dared to lift her head again.

The gnoll that had tried to attack her was now lying on the ground in a crumpled heap. The eyes were blank, save for vanishing traces of a silver glow. Shakily, she got to her feet, glancing around the clearing. The two undead gnolls that remained were backing up warily from Arn'Jin, who didn't seem much interested in pursuing them. Once they reached the edge of the clearing, they turned and fled, crashing noisily as they charged into the forest.

Then she noticed Revlis.

He was in a kneeling position, hands placed palm down in front of him. Finally, he pushed on them, clambering back to his feet. Amelia frowned – wisps of smoke were rising from the leather glove on his right hand. Had he been the one with that strange light?

Silently, the two former humans stared at each other, Arn'Jin knowing to keep silent. Finally, Revlis extended an outstretched arm to Amelia. And after moment's hesitation, Amelia grasped onto it.

* * *

As the group continued the last leg of their journey to Undercity, Amelia kept stealing glances at Revlis. Those glances never lasted very long; she'd always duck her head again, keeping her sight on the dirt floor of the forest for fear of attracting his unwanted attention.

Her focus remained on her harsh actions immediately after having witnesses Revlis kill that unarmed soldier. Well, she still thought what he had done was wrong, but… she needn't have reacted the way she did. The shock of what had occurred, combined with his seeming callousness over the whole matter…

She glanced up again – and started in surprise as she saw him staring right back at her. Silently, he decreased his pace, letting Arn'Jin take the point, and stepped back to her.

"How are you holding up?" He asked softly, stealing a glance at the torn flesh around her left arm.

"Fine." She said shortly. "It didn't hurt, after all."

"Mm." He grinned slightly. "I think there's something that just makes us undead about losing more of our flesh, since it'll never grow back. I'll help you clean it up and bandage it when we have the time."

"Th – thanks." She said softly.

They continued on in silence for a few more minutes. Finally, Amelia lifted her head. "Revlis… tell me something."

"What is it?"

"Are you… are you always like that? So… merciless?"

She caught a slight wince in his expression before his face rearranged itself into an impassive mask. "It… comes with my line of work." The warrior blew out a long sigh. "Amelia, what I'm going to tell you may not be pleasant, but it's the truth. You've probably heard what they say about a heart being a liability on the battlefield, about how the only time an enemy will extend a hand in your direction is if he's clutching a weapon in it. And those lines get said so often because it's the truth."

"I mean…" She shook her head, stepping nimbly over a gnarled root in her path. "I understand what you mean – it's the right decision to do, if you make it only with your mind. But… do you still feel pity, Revlis? The slight twinge of sympathy for that soldier, even as you killed him?"

To this, Revlis remained silent for a long time. Finally, under Amelia's questioning gaze, he sighed.

"I don't know anymore." He spoke softly. "I just don't know."

* * *

Undercity was foul, rank, and filthy. Liquids that glowed faint green trailed their way through the underground passageways, and hordes upon hordes of Forsaken teemed their way through the semidarkness.

Of course, undead eyes allowed one to observe the surroundings with relatively little impediment, and Amelia's gaze roved back and forth, slack-jawed, her stare wide.

Her upbringing in countryside villages had left her woefully unprepared for a city of the size and scale that she now stood in. It was all she could do to remind herself to keep walking after the rest of the group.

Eventually, at a junction, it was agreed that the group would split up. Ghun and Jiron would take Rahkal and attempt to find lodging for the night, mainly because the Orcs would require some bit of recovery and rest time after their trek. The four undead members of the party had no need of such breaks, and thus were free to do as they please.

"We'll meet back at the bank on the morrow, at the passing of the third watch." Revlis said softly to all of them. "Please don't be late."

"No worries, mon!" Arn'Jin nodded.

Silently, the others turned and departed, making their own ways deeper into the subterranean labyrinth.

As Rahkal turned and silently departed after Jiron and Ghun, Amelia cast a worried glance at the undead boy. He'd barely spoken a single word ever since she'd met him. He was... well, he didn't seem to be adjusting to the idea of being undead very well.

Revlis followed her gaze. "I've met people who took it harder than he did …" He shook his head. "I included. He'll be fine, Amelia." Silently, he took her wounded hand, observing the dangling strips of flesh left behind from the gnoll's attack. "Hmm…" He mused for a moment. "Maybe it could be looked to…" He half-turned. "Follow me, if I can find her-"

Hesitating only slightly, Amelia set out after Revlis.

* * *

After several long minutes of navigating the seemingly endless maze of black stone, Revlis paused, craning his neck as if he were trying to find someone.

"She's always around here this time of the day…" He muttered. "So why can't I find her?"

After standing still and watching him for several minutes, Amelia frowned at his odd behaviour. What was Revlis doing? Breathing out a sigh, she walked up to his side.

Or… at least she _tried_ to walk up to his side. Abruptly, she found that her body refused to obey any commands she gave it. She was standing, rooted to the ground.

_What have we here?_ The voice floated through her mind, whimsical, sultry… filled with a sort of danger Amelia didn't understand. And yet it carried a hint of playfulness about it, and even more, lurking on the feathered edges of the feminine voice, Amelia caught hints of madness.

_My… you're still fresh… still young… still unlearned in our ways…_Abruptly, Amelia started forward again, but now she could feel whatever unseen force it was manipulating the actions of her body. And all the while her mind screamed silently at her to fight it, to try and figure out what was happening to her.

Then she was beside Revlis, draping a hand across his shoulder. "Hello, sweet Revlis." Her voice whispered sultrily.

Revlis jerked away, startled. After a moment or so, his eyes narrowed. "Shathra? Is that you?"

"Who?" Amelia felt her head being cocked to one side, a puzzled expression on her face. "What are you talking about, my love?"

Revlis' retained the neutral expression on his face. "Shathra, your eccentricity is no excuse for usurping control of Amelia's body and scaring her half out of her wits."

"Who is this 'Shathra' you keeping speaking off?" Amelia's legs moved her forward one more step, until she was pressing her body intimately against Revlis' own. She leaned forward, tracing a tiny circle on her neck. "Such unseemly talk… let us forget it all… come away with me, my love…"

"Shathra." There was a cold edge in Revlis' voice that made her shudder inwardly.

Amelia felt her lips curl into a smile. "Very well, dear Revlis… very well." And abruptly the suffocating presence in her mind vanished, and Amelia stumbled back, gasping with fright.

"Revlis! There was some – I don't know, but I could control myself, I couldn't control my own body, I couldn't control what I said, and it was so _awful_ – I can't-"

"Shh." He laid a comforting arm on her shoulder. "It's okay. It's alright." Scared as she was, she fell forward, clinging on to him tightly. After a moment, she felt one arm wrap protectively around her.

"Alright, Shathra, you've had your joke. Now come out." Revlis said softly.

"Ah, business, always business with you…" From the shadows stepped a figure, a cloak slung about the body such that it obscured the majority of her frame. "No time for talk and laughter…"

"That can wait, Shathra." Revlis' frowned deepened. "Also, you _should_ be apologizing to Amelia for that stunt you pulled."

'Shathra' chuckled lightly. "Ah, I merely wanted to see. To remember… what it was like, having a body who has not yet suffered the ravages of time, her grey skin… still unblemished." A curved finger reached out to brush Amelia's cheek, and although she didn't step back, Amelia still shuddered at the touch.

Abruptly, another hand reached up, throwing the hood of the cloak back, and Amelia was barely able to stifle a cry of horror.

The elven face had once been fair and beautiful – of that Amelia had no doubt. But now, it was half eaten away, maggots seething across countless holes in the rotted flesh. Violet orbs burned in place of eyes, and as Shathra's cracked lips curved into a smile, Amelia saw what looked to be a thick black oily substance leaking from a wound in her neck. Her hair, which must have been a beautiful flowing mane of gold once, was now gnarled and tangled within itself; Amelia saw what appeared to be a dead rat entrapped within the snarls of the hair.

"What it meant… to be beautiful." Shathra finished softly. Then she turned to Revlis. "And why have _you_ come, you who cut me down oh so very long ago?"

At this Amelia's started, and Revlis nodded to Amelia. "Yes… back when I was still living… I slew her." He shook his head. "The body of a living High Elf – as fair and beautiful as any of Silvermoon's proud denizens. But within that frame lurked the soul of a banshee."

"Too true, too true." Shathra's eyes twinkled, perhaps with amusement. "I, who once served Arthas as a mindless wraith… ah, when first I entered the body of that unwary elf, wrenching _her_ soul from her mortal bonds… delight such as I had never known filled me."

This conversation was fast becoming too much for Amelia to deal with, and perhaps Revlis realized that, for he held up a calming hand. "Well, we're here now for your help, Shathra. Amelia, your arm."

Hesitantly, Amelia held up her wounded arm, revealing the long strips of torn flesh dangling. Shathra chuckled. "Ah, you wish for my magic! Say so earlier, then." She turned her gaze to Amelia. "You will be left with the scars on your arms, regardless of what I do. That is acceptable, yes?"

Amelia nodded.

"Then I shall begin."

* * *

As Shathra began her incantation, and a blue glow suffused Amelia's outstretched arm, Revlis turned away, tugging at the leather glove on his hand.

It hadn't hurt of course, for the simple reason that _nothing_ hurt, but that didn't mean that there hadn't been injuries…

Yes, as he suspected. He'd yet to have a chance to observe his hand properly, but the flesh was now blackened and burnt. There was still a thin wisp of smoke rising from his hand.

Revlis shook his head. It had been an extreme situation, and thus an extreme measure had been called for. It had been the only alternative, he told himself.

A sharp hiss drew his attention, and instinctively Revlis dipped his hand back into the leather glove, but as he turned, he saw Shathra's violet orbs flaring with murderous rage, and he knew he was in for a hard time.

"You _imbecile_!" Shathra screeched.

* * *

Thank you for reading. Please review. 


	6. Awakening

Exist

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Etrian Odyssey's out now… if you have a DS and you like old-school dungeon crawling, then buy this game. I mean it.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

* * *

_Paladins, by the very nature of being Paladins, cannot become undead. Some blessing of the Light that even the Lich King's dread Plague cannot breach can be thanked for that. Of course, this 'immunity' conveniently ignores the plight of apprentices, on the cusp of becoming full-fledged soldiers of the Light; slain in battle while fighting alongside their masters. To say my faith was not shaken by this turn of events would be to lie. But likewise, that the Light has been there to comfort and guide me in my pit of despair is something for which I must and shall be grateful. At the very least, I can find solace in the fact that I did not become one of them – those accursed Death Knights that serve the Lich King. – _From the diary of Revlis, a member of the Forsaken

* * *

"No, shift the positions of your fingers a bit more – your sword has to rest comfortably in the crook between pointer and thumb. Yes – no – yes, that's it."

Amelia nodded, gazing down at the sword she now held in her hand. "I find it kinda hard to believe the way you hold your sword would make much difference."

"Well, try smacking the wall in front of you with it. Don't worry about damaging the sword – it's an old one anyway."

Amelia nodded hesitantly, took a step forward, and swung at the wall, a sweeping overhead slash. It clanged against the ancient rock with a metallic ring, and Amelia stepped back again, checking to ensure the sword hadn't been too chipped or notched.

"Not a bad strike, actually." Revlis said thoughtfully. "Here, now grip it like a stick or something and try the same thing again."

Shrugging, Amelia obliged, and once more the silver edge of the blade blurred on its path towards the smooth stone –

Clank!

The sword flew from her grip, clattering several feet away as it bumped into a skeleton that had sprawled itself out on the dank floor. As Amelia hurried after the weapon, mumbling hasty words of apology, the skeleton merely snorted in displeasure, rotating its skull away from Amelia.

"See what I mean?"

"Ye – yeah." Amelia rubbed the back of her head. "I get it. Combat really is tougher than I imagined it would be – we haven't even gotten to those fancy techniques you use yet."

"All in good time, Amelia." Revlis' eyes twinkled, perhaps with amusement. "All in good time."

They had spent the better part of a week in the Undercity, and most of their free time was spent poring over the annals and records contained within the dark dungeons. Amelia hadn't been a particularly proficient reader, and thus she had mainly helped with the more physical chores of carrying various scrolls and tomes around. The fact that turning into an undead greatly increased your strength probably helped too, of course.

Thus far, Rahkal had remained polite but subdued, talking only when spoken to, and then only to dispense basic information about himself or what he knew. Thus far, they had met with no success whatsoever in locating any information about his parents. Amelia supposed that couldn't be helped, although Arn'Jin and Jiron had been growing noticeably impatient with the lack of any real action these days.

Revlis reached out and collected the sword in Amelia's arm. "I think that's enough for one day, alright?"

Amelia nodded hesitantly. As Revlis turned away, Amelia glanced down at his gloved hands. It had been a week since that incident and Shathra's strange outburst – and now Amelia had begun to notice that Revlis had kept his gloves on at all times.

"Revlis?"

"Hm?"

"Could I… could I ask you something?"

"Ask."

"You know a week ago, with the gnolls? What was that light? Why was your hand smoking after that? And why did Shathra get so mad at you?"

Revlis shook his head. "I was wondering if you'd ever get around to questioning me on that." He took a glance around at the shambling corpses all around them. "Let's go back to our lodgings. This isn't really a good place for startling revelations."

That said, he picked up his pace, thread his way through the crowds.

* * *

As she stepped into the gloomy room, Revlis turned, laying down a tiny amulet onto the sidetable. "Amelia. Do you know what this is?"

She frowned, reaching over to pick up the silver trinket. Silently, she turned it over in her hand, her dead flesh pressing against the gleaming metal.

"…No." She finally answered. "I don't."

Revlis walked over with a smile, relieving Amelia of the amulet, and silently threading a silver chain through it. When he was finished, he fastened the chain around his neck, leaving the amulet dangling at his chest.

"When an apprentice, studying to become a Paladin, completes his basic training, he is assigned to a master, who will look to the training and teaching of the apprentice." Revlis fingered the metal token. "On the day that the ceremony is officially performed, the master will present a handmade amulet to his apprentice, signifying the bond between the both of them."

Amelia's mouth hung open. "You – you're a paladin?"

Revlis smiled. "No."

She frowned. "Then – then what –"

"If I were a paladin, then I wouldn't be standing here now." Revlis chuckled grimly. "A full-fledged paladin – one upon whom the blessing of the Light has been bestowed upon, cannot become undead." He shook his heads, the ethereal light in his eyes fading slightly. "No, I was but a student, studying under my master, when I was slain in battle." He turned away, pulling out a chair and settling himself down on it.

"But – but then…" Amelia began, trying to make sense of what had occurred.

Revlis closed his eyes. "It was awful." He said shortly. "When I awoke – when I broke free of the Lich King's grasp. The terror and bewilderment at what I had become – the very thing I had sworn to eradicate." He laughed, dry, dusty, and without mirth.

Amelia was silent for a while. "What was it like, Revlis?"

"What was what?"

"…Awakening."

A shudder ran through his body. "That… it wasn't…" His face was screwed up, whether in anguish or anger, she couldn't tell. "I…" He began, then he shook his head. "That…"

* * *

_Fight. Kill. Die._

_That was all he knew to do. Hunt down those who would oppose his Master, oppose his Lord._

_The Lich King's will, his will. To serve and to obey… that was all._

_Over the crest, at the edges of the forest, standing by the withered trees, a wave of humans. Living people. Clad in armour, armed with weapons and shields, they raised swords and spears in silent challenge to the undead army that came before them._

_Useless. The humans would all die, and then they would join them in servitude to Ner'Zhul…_

_The lines met with earthshaking force, the undead's own weapons clashing with the brave defender's. Not averse to using their own bodies as tools in war, the Scourge resorted to claws, teeth, biting and punching, savage animalistic tactics meant to surpass and beat down the living._

_The humans were outnumbered, and their ranks began to thin. Sensing victory, the undead's attack only grew in ferocity and rapidity._

_And it was into this swirling melee that he charged, eyes glowing with unholy mirth as he cut his way through the enemy ranks._

_Abruptly, his blade clashed with another, forcing him to stumble back. His lips pulled back into a feral snarl, and he glared at his latest foe._

_The bearded man glared back. "Abomination!" He spat out, and once more the broadsword was raised._

_Smaller and faster, he ducked under the swing of the blade, his own rusted sword slashing upwards. His foe was agile, though, and managed to avoid it. "By the strength of the Light…" He whispered. Suddenly, there was a flash, and a golden aura sprang up about the Paladin._

_Others might have shied away from the intense brightness, but he was a member of the Scourge; the concept of __**retreat**__ was entirely alien to him. With an inhuman snarl, he charged forward, one hand reaching up to close around the paladin's neck._

_The holy warrior's eyes widened for a moment before narrowing, and a bolt of purifying light surged at Revlis – only for it to be absorbed onto a shining trinket that hung around his neck._

_His look of shocked disbelief remained on the Paladin's face as throat was torn from his neck. Letting the cadaver flop to the ground, he turned away, eager to continue the battle-_

_There was the sound of sizzling flesh, and he hesitated. The amulet that hung around his neck had swung about on its chain, bumping against the flesh of his chest. Imbued with the energies of the Light, it had burnt him._

_Hesitantly, he grabbed the trinket, his torn and ragged gloves protecting his hand. Bringing it up to face level, he glared, confused at it._

_It was a meaningless piece of worthless metal that had hung about his neck as long as he remembered. Why then did it look familiar to him?_

_It was… strange. Light… Paladins… something about the man he had just killed…_

_He blinked, confused. His head was foggy with thoughts… thoughts that didn't hold the peculiar quality of the Lich King's whispered commands._

_Shaking his head, he tightened his grasp on his sword. There was a battle to be fought. He could focus on strange happenings later._

_Spotting an undead locked in a death struggle with a human knight, he broke into a run – only to stumble to a confused halt a couple of steps later._

_He had been… aiming for the human. But why? Wasn't __**he**__ human himself? Why hadn't his first instinct been to strike down the undead?_

_Bewildered, he stumbled another step back, raising his hand to his forehead – and as he did so, he caught sight of the rotted, grey flesh on his arm, the amulet still resting in the palm of his hand, still glowing radiantly with the Light._

"_Ah…" He whispered. His knees gave way below him, and he crouched to the ground, shivering._

_He remembered. He remembered everything._

_Who he was. What he had become._

"_AaaaAAAAAaaahhHHh…" He didn't seem capable for forcing any sound out of his mouth other than the rending wail that now came from his throat._

_Before anything else could be done, he felt strange squelching sensation, and glanced down to see a sword impaled through his midsection._

_Whirling, he brought his own blade up in an underhand swing, cutting through the flesh of the human that had attempted to ambush him. Before he could do any more, he heard a whizzing sound, and suddenly the vision in his left eye was obscured._

_Angrily, he reached up and yanked out the arrow that had struck his eye – along with the eyeball itself. He stepped back, one part of his numbed brain reflecting the fact that he had felt no pain whatsoever – and that his vision was not incapacitated in the least._

_He turned and made a dash for the forest, blindly crashing through the undergrowth. The battle was all but done – there were no humans left to chase him, and the undead, reflected that he was merely 'one of them', did not pursue._

_Finally, secure in the belief that he had escaped, he crouched to the dank forest floor and began to scream._

_

* * *

_

Amelia shook her head. "It's like that for all of us, isn't it."

Revlis' lips parted into a feral grin. "As far as I know. Arn'Jin actually took it pretty well." His expression of mirth faded and the warrior shook his head, returning his gaze to the floor. "I don't know how much time passed before I was able to pull myself together enough to move on. It was at least three days and nights, I know that much."

Amelia was silent for a long while. "Revlis… thank you for telling me your story."

Revlis nodded. "You're welcome." With a shake of his head, he stood, clearly intending to vanish into his room.

"Revlis!"

He paused, turned back slightly. "What is it?"

"Your name… your _real_ name, before you became undead… could you tell it to me?"

* * *

He stared back at her. Silent.

He hadn't told her the whole story, of course. He could never tell anyone the whole story.

And because he could not...

"Leave it be." He said shortly. "I… am no longer worthy to bear that name."

And he was out of the room before he call of protest could reach him.

* * *

Sorry for making you guys wait so long for such a short update, but I've been pretty busy lately – we just staged a school play and all.

Anyway, thanks for reading. Please review.


	7. Dark

Exist

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Disclaimer: I own nothing.

* * *

_Hmph. 'Blood' Elves. They're just High Elves that had openly embraced their lust for magic. At least they're honest about it – which is more than I can say for some of the fools I knew back when I was still alive. Ah, Sylvanas, Sylvanas. Is it that she clings to some scrap of her life as a virtuous defender of Silvermoon, that she would welcome them so? Or does she hope to enmesh them in as thick a web of deception as she has with the Orcs? Time will tell. Time will tell. – _Shathra, a member of the Forsaken

* * *

"And so, in fear and suspicion, the Orcs began their retreat from the mountains." Shathra low voice floated around the room, reaching the ears of all those huddled around the fire.

Of course, being undead, they could see perfectly fine without the light of the fire, and the warmth it brought made no difference to their dead flesh. Jiron and Ghun weren't there – they had been called away on some business by one of the higher-ups in the Orcish heirachy.

Still, the fire was there, and it served a rather unique purpose for the time being.

As Shathra continued her tale, the smoke twisted, shaping themselves into crude representations of orcs and caravans, slowly threading their way through the mountain pathways.

Magic could be put to many uses – some for battle, some for the more mundane, daily tasks of life. And one such spell in the possession of Shathra was often weaved to make storytelling sessions slightly more… captivating.

Amelia shifted her gaze to look at the other members of the audience. Revlis had settled himself down on the floor, back against the cold stone walls of Undercity, watching the theatrics with a steady, unchanging gaze. Arn'Jin didn't seem very interested, constantly glancing about all over the room. Gjoln kept his head low, listening but at the same time dealing with his personal thoughts. Rahkal, meanwhile, stared with rapt intensity at the smoky images, as if they were pieces of history come alive again just for him.

Shathra's eyes gleamed with feral delight – it seemed as if she truly took pleasure in being able to weave tales anew for an audience. She shifted the positions of her fingers like a puppet master, manipulating the insubstantial images.

"And then, from the clouds, a roar." Shathra paused, and just for a second, Amelia might have sworn she could hear the after-echoes of just such a scream, resounding through the darkened caverns. "And then the black shadow came forth."

"Once known as Neltharion – the Earth Warder, one of the Five." Shathra continued. "An Aspect created by the Titans to guide and protect this planet. But through the long years, his once-noble heart was corrupted by the darkness – perhaps beyond recall. And in his twisted fury, he came to be known to the world – not by the name gifted to him by the Titans, but by a new one, a mark of the raging darkness within his heart." She paused, shifting her glowing eyes to look at each and every one watching her. A tiny smirk grew on her face, and she leaned forward to whisper.

"Deathwing."

"GRRRRRAAARRR!"

At her voice, the flames had suddenly danced to greater intensity, a dragon's head wreathed in crimson fire bursting forth, roaring at them. Even though the sound was relatively muted, Amelia still jerked back, staring with wide eyes at the phantasmagorical image.

Shathra sat silent for a few more seconds, letting the image sink in. "Through the long years his Flight – the Black Dragons – had been all but annihilated. And so he had come to claim those of the Red Dragonflight for his own."

"The Orcs did what they could to stop him, of course – calling up an ancient, sickly dragon to go against one of the five Aspects." Shathra's eyes glowed with amusement. "Just another sign of how desperate they were, I suppose."

"The dragon was finished off in short order, but as Deathwing raised his head to roar his victory, three answering roars came. Three great dragons, of gold, green, and blue, soaring up to meet him. Nozdormu the Timeless, Malygos Spellweaver, and Ysera, She of the Dreaming. Three Aspects, each his equal – or at least, that was the way it was _meant_ to be."

Seeing the confused look on Amelia's face, Shathra smiled. "Little one, have you never wondered… how the Orcs came to be able to control Dragons? Why the Dragon Queen, Alexstrasza – would serve the greenskins?"

Amelia shrugged. "Well, I never – I just assumed they had some kind of magic."

"Some kind of magic? Indeed…" Face concealed under her hood, Amelia was barely able to catch a glimpse of Shathra's smirk. The flames flickered, and a tiny disc appeared in the smoke. "How does one turn on your former allies, when each is your match, and you alone are nothing against their might combined? Simple. You deplete their power."

"The Demon Soul. A single golden disc, so insubstantial that anyone could easily mistake it for nothing more than a pretty accessory. But in it was contained the power – the essence, of all dragons – save Deathwing. And as long as it existed, he was more powerful than any of the other Aspects – even a match for all four of them together. But more insidious, perhaps, was the fact that any individual who grasped the Demon Soul could command any Dragon – from the lowest drakes to the great Aspects themselves."

"So… she was keeping the Dragonqueen there against her will?" Amelia questioned softly.

A nod.

"That's… awful." Amelia murmured.

"There are many injustices in life, little one. Some are simply more apparent than others." Shathra said softly. "And as long as that disc existed, as long as the powers of the dragons were bound to that disc, none of them could challenge Deathwing."

"And so they fought, the three of them, with their former comrade and friend. And the three of them, their powers combined, were still not his match. Even as the Dragonqueen broke free and rose to aid them in battle, it still proved insufficient."

"But on a mountain path, the human mage, Rhonin, was at work. More through chance than intent, he met the Orc leader in battle – and gained the Demon Soul as his prize. The dwarves had chosen this time to ambush the orcs, and in the heated battle, no one noticed as he desperately sought a way to destroy the Demon Soul."

"During his travels, he had come into possession of a single obsidian shard – a scale from the great Deathwing. That was all he had left – and that was all he needed."

"The burst of energy from the Soul soared upward – to where the five great ones were doing battle. In a single instant, Deathwing no longer faced four enfeebled dragons – he faced the Aspects of old, each his equal in strength, and he no match for all together."

Before she could continue, a dark form appeared in one of the doorways to the dimly-lit room.

"Shathra… you presence is requested by Galth. He says it is urgent."

The undead mage mumbled something in a forgotten language and stood. "Apologies," She said, a tiny smirk on her face. "It appears I shall have to complete storytime for the little ones later."

Revlis barely glanced up from where the fire was flickering brightly. "Thanks for your time, Shathra."

* * *

The group split up, each heading their own ways. Silently, Amelia fell in step behind Revlis, following him through the dark halls of Undercity.

"The world's a messy place, isn't it?" She spoke softly.

"War has plagued our lands as far back as we can remember." Revlis replied shortly. "Perhaps it is in the nature of beings such as us."

She sensed that he wasn't very comfortable with the direction of the conversation, and so she hastily changed subjects. "Where are we going?"

"Where else?" Revlis chuckled, a harsh hollow sound in the city of shadows. "Training."

* * *

"Low, high, low, low…" Amelia brought her sword up and down in a precise series of slashes while Revlis watched from the sidelines.

"Not too bad. The swing themselves are a little shaky, but your speed is definitely improving." Revlis nodded approvingly. "Don't forget to tighten your grip on point of impact."

Amelia nodded. "How much longer until you think I'd be ready to fight alongside you?"

Revlis shrugged. "That depends on how fast you learn. A lot of stuff can't be properly learnt by going through training motions. Soon you'll be ready for real combat – 1 on 1 duels, that sort of thing – and that'll be part of your training as a warrior too."

Amelia paused, digesting this new information. Then, hesitantly, she spoke up, "Could I… you know, learn how to use the Light, too?"

Revlis had to laugh at how woefully misunderstood the concept of the Light was to her. "You don't 'learn' how to use the Light, Amelia – it's a divine blessing bestowed upon those who have sworn to uphold justice. And in the case of the Paladins… the holy light that soothes and heals our allies – it is the same light that sears and burns the undead." Pulling off his glove, he held up his arm to show his hand – the flesh on it almost burnt away to the bone. "By the grace of the Light, I have not been stripped of its blessing – it still guides and protects me in my daily existence. But anytime I call upon it in a more… direct manifestation…" He sighed. "The light of the holy ones burn too brightly for one such as me."

Amelia was silent.

After a long moment, he roused himself. "There's no point in sitting around moping. Back to training, Amelia. Let's see how good your parry is."

* * *

A few days later, Arn'Jin was getting visibly annoyed with them being cooped up in the dank darkness of Undercity, and he was complaining about it to Revlis.

"What be the point of us staying in here, mon?" He demanded as he walked besides Revlis, yellow eyes flaring. "We been searching for the days, and we don't know nuttin' bout that kid's stupid parents!"

Amelia, walking slightly behind the both of them, was thankful that Arn'Jin had waited until Rahkal had been taken away by Gjoln on some errand before beginning on his rants.

"Patience, Arn'Jin." Revlis seemed serene in comparison. "If you don't feel like helping Rahkal, you can always venture out on hunts by yourself. Of course, without a team watching your back, you're going to have to stick to smaller game, but…"

Arn'Jin let out a disgusted snort. "What I don't get is what the _point_ be, mon! Why waste our time? If his parents be Forsaken, then he'll run into them sooner or later. If they be Scourge, then too bad, but-"

"WAY! WAY! Way for the ambassadors from Quel'Thalas!" The booming voice at the end of the walkway gave signal that everyone in the vicinity was to move to the side.

Amelia complied, grumbling to herself as she felt the press of rotting bodies all around her. She had managed to end up one person behind the front of crowd, and given that the man in front of her was missing half of his head, she was afforded an excellent view of the procession.

Striding down the street, clad in ornate robes of crimson and gold and orange, were four elves. Amelia's eyes widened. They differed in height, size, and gender, but what they all shared in common were eyes that blazed poisonous green. As one, they strode down the halls, vanishing further into the depths of Undercity.

When they had gone and the crowd returned to their usual duties, Amelia gave Revlis a questioning look. "Those…"

"The Blood Elves of Quel'Thalas have recently been seeking an alliance with the Orcs – naturally, that means that they're to be allies of the Forsaken too. There's been a lot of these peace couriers coming to Undercity lately – I'm kinda surprised you managed to miss them until now."

"Pah." Arn'Jin snapped. "Them fancy Blood Elves with their special names and magic – you can see it in their eyes, mon. They think they too good for us." The animosity between the elves and the trolls was well-known, and apparently Arn'Jin had little trouble demonstrating that particular trait.

Revlis shrugged. "I don't much care one way or the other. More allies is always a good thing, in my eyes – provided their trustworthy. In the end though, this is a decision for the leaders, not us."

Arn'Jin merely rolled his eyes before bounding away on his muscled legs.

"Ah! Arn…" Amelia called after the troll.

"Leave him be, Amelia." Revlis said softly. "He'll come around soon enough."

As they continued their walk through Undercity, Amelia turned to Revlis. "So… why would elves want an alliance with Orcs and Forsaken? Don't they hate Orcs? And I can't imagine them being especially fond of Undead either, free will or no."

"Another alliance of convenience in a world with too many of them already." Revlis shrugged. "The Alliance kicked the majority of the Elves out after some fiasco that involved them accepting aid from the Naga. Kael'Thas – that's the official leader of the Blood Elves, in case you didn't know – is currently on Outland, the homeworld of the Orcs. And the remaining Blood Elves of Azeroth want to get to Outland so they can join him. Problem is, they don't have access to that place, whereas the Horde does. So they decided to make an alliance with the Orcs so they can get to Outland." He paused. "And as for Sylvanas, either she's agreeable to it because that's the race she once belonged to, or she's agreeable to it because it'll make backstabbing them and turning them Undead much easier."

Amelia sighed. "This is all awfully depressing."

"That's the way the world works. Everyone's in it for themselves nowadays." Revlis' eyes dimmed slightly. "You can't trust anyone. Not nowadays."

Amelia bit her lip. Then, hesitantly, she spoke up. "Can I… can I trust you?"

Revlis' eyes widened and he started slightly. After a long moment of silence, he turned to look at Amelia. The ghost of a smile appeared on his face.

"Yes." He nodded, ever so slightly. "I suppose you can."

* * *

End chapter.

* * *

Sorry for the long lag in updates. Had exams.

Thanks for reading, please review.


	8. Despair

Exist

* * *

Disclaimer: I own nothing

* * *

_There are many words that would apply to us. Accursed. Hated. Scorned. Feared. Punished. All are fitting. Yet none so much as the moniker that have adopted for those who serve under my banner. All have abandoned us. All have rejected us. Even the gods. Even the Light. That is what we are. Forsaken. A mere name? No. No, it is our very existence._ – Sylvanas, the Ruler of the Forsaken

* * *

She'd noticed Revlis getting more irritable lately. The search for Rahkal's parents was proving utterly fruitless, and most of the group appeared to be on edge – except for Ghun, who remained as patiently unflappable as ever.

Still, there was something different about the way Revlis was behaving. His attention span seemed to be suffering, it took less for him to become snappish… the list went on.

She'd even been on the receiving end on one of his small outbursts the other day. After finding him for one of their practice sessions, she'd been met with a curt 'Not now.' After (despite her better judgment) pressing the matter, he'd nearly blown up in her face with a series of sharps sentences that essentially boiled down to her demanding that she leave him alone.

She'd wisely retreated after that, and he'd stopped by shortly to offer his apologies (she'd accepted, of course), and no more had been made of the issue – aside that it was something puzzling and probably deserved more attention to it than it was currently receiving.

Matters were _not_ helped by the fact that more and more Blood Elves had started appearing in Undercity. Some were simply ambassadors from Quel'Thalas, but of late a fair number of them had made their residence in their gloomy recesses of the Forsaken's bastion. This, naturally, had led to some tension.

Most noticeable was Arn'Jin's reaction to the Blood Elves. No surprise – Trolls _hated_ Elves, and the reverse applied in most cases. Once she'd caught sight of the Undead Troll and a Blood Elf male getting into an argument that grew more heated by the second, to the point where she feared physical violence. Fortunately, that hadn't occurred and aside from drawing stares, the dispute was settled without much fuss. Still, it was indicative that there were dangerous undercurrents running loose.

Surprisingly enough, the two Orcs of their group didn't seem particularly distraught at the prospect of dealing with Blood Elves. Ghun had fought them long ago, but in the current climate of shifting alliances, he said, anyone his Warchief accepted as an ally would be accepted by him too. Jiron, too young to have participated in the First and Second wars, didn't hold much of an opinion towards them either way; he treated them with the same reticence he gave everyone else.

Rahkal never said much around the Blood Elves – he simply stood, staring silently at them, answering any questions directed his way (and there weren't many) with monosyllabic grunts.

Gjoln was, well, Gjoln. He treated them politely whenever he had cause to talk to them, and nothing more.

As for herself, well, she _had_ been a simple farm girl, after all. She still felt nervous in the presence of so many beings from all walks of life, her current undead status notwithstanding. She didn't deliberately avoid contact with them, but neither did she seek them out. By and large, she focused on her training sessions, sometimes (and increasingly so of late) on her own instead of having Revlis there as a guide.

* * *

One afternoon, she, Gjoln, and Revlis were crouched in one of Undercity's endless, darkened alleys, doing nothing much in particular. Gjoln was busy picking at his skin, peeling off several flakes of dead flesh.

Amelia sighed. Undead flesh didn't stop rotting, the decomposition merely occurred at a far slower pace than usual. She hadn't yet noticed any signs of her own skin breaking down, and if Revlis was any indication, it wasn't going to happen for a while yet, but it was still unsettling to think that sooner or later she'd be a walking skeleton.

She was distracted from her musings by the sound of Ghun approaching. "Is Arn'Jin around?"

Gjoln glanced up. "No, but I could probably track him down in a few minutes if need be. Why?"

"No, no, do not bother." The Orc Shaman spread his hands. "In fact, for now it is better that he is not here."

"Arn'Jin?" Came a fairly amused voice from behind them. "That wouldn't happen to be the Undead Troll we've seen around, would it? He got into an argument with you not too long ago, didn't he, Iel'Khara?"

It was then that Amelia noticed the newcomers. Standing behind Ghun were two Blood Elves – one male, one female.

The male gave an annoyed grunt and folded his arms. Amelia's eyes widened slightly as she saw a deep scar running down the right side of his face. "I'll thank you not to pry into my private matters, Ysellia."

Revlis glanced up, and Amelia thought she discerned a certain tightening in the glowing orbs that were his eyes. "Ghun, what's all this about?"

The Orc shrugged and stepped aside so the others could see the elves more clearly. "These two Elves have requested to be part of our party. I have no objections to their joining, but I believed it best we have a group consensus first.

Amelia shot a glance at Revlis. He sat still for a long moment, before slowly uncoiling himself from his crouching position. "I'm not opposed to having more allies, but as a general rule I like to know as much about them as possible."

The female let out a short laugh. Her poison-green eyes blazed with feral intensity. "As much as possible? Why, I _could_ tell you my life story, but it would take such a very long time, wouldn't it now? The Undead need no rest, or so I hear, but I believe even one such as you would be wearied by the multitude of events."

Yes, of course. Amelia nodded slightly. She remembered that Elves had ridiculously long lifespans – although, of course, upon further reflection that to elves it would seem that their lifespans were the ones that were normal and that humans were the ones with ridiculously short ones.

Revlis tilted his head to the side. "While I've no doubt that your life was filled with all manner of fascinating events, I was more concerned with knowing as much as I can about your prowess as _warriors_."

The male – Iel'Khara, wasn't it? – stepped forward and nodded. "A justified query." He rumbled in a voice like gravel. "I am Iel'Khara Blazeweaver. I am proficient in the arcane arts."

"I recognize you. You're a former wizard of Dalaran." Gjoln said softly.

The Blood Elf paused. "Yes," he replied . "I was. Until Arthas – may his soul be twice devoured – set it to the blade. I was one of those who left the Violet Citadel as the traitorous Kel'Thuzad began his incantations to open the portal to the Twisting Nether. After that I-"

"Life stories can come later." Revlis repeated in a firm tone of voice. Amelia frowned at him, although he didn't seem to notice. Why was he behaving in such an antagonistic manner? After a moment, he noticed that his attention was fixated on the female elf.

The female laughed again and patted Iel'Khara on the back. "Some other time, brother." Stepping forward, she took a graceful bow. "I am Ysellia, also of the Blazeweaver family. I am-"

"A Paladin." Revlis said, his voice flat.

Ysellia's eyes widened. "Indeed. And how is it that you know me? I'm not very good at remembering individual humans, so you'll pardon me if I don't recognize you-"

Before she could finish speaking, Revlis turned around and walked off, leaving five shocked stares behind.

After a brief moment of hesitation, Amelia took off after him.

* * *

Ghun sighed. "Funny," he groused. "I expected that to happen, but I always thought Arn'Jin to be the one to do that."

Gjoln shook his head. "Apologies for my companion's brusque behavior."

"Not at all." Ysellia smirked. "He… _intrigues_ me."

Her brother let out a heartfelt sigh. "I've yet to see anything good come out of whatever it is that 'intrigues' you." He shifted his stance so he could regard Ghun. "We are still willing to be part of your group, of course."

"Of course." The Orc bowed his head. "If there is any further news, I will inform you at once."

The tiny group broke up, but as Iel'Khara headed off, he sneaked a glance over his shoulder.

Yes, his sister was heading off in the same direction the Undead warrior had left in.

His sigh this time was twice as deep as before, and just as heartfelt.

* * *

"Revlis!" The plaintive call was enough to cause him to hesitate. Glancing back, he saw Amelia hurrying after him, concern shining through her sapphire orbs.

Silently, he ground his teeth. He didn't want her around. Not right now, anyway.

"Leave me alone." He said as soon as she came into earshot. "I don't want to talk right now."

"Well, _that's_ self-evident," she shot back. "After the way you left that Blood Elf back there! Are you all right, Revlis? Why are you-"

He sighed, trying to rein in his temper. "I said leave me alone." He muttered tiredly, turning away.

Predictably, she refused, brushing aside that demand like she hadn't even heard it. "You know, you're not behaving much like one would expect a Paladin to behave." She moved in closer to him. "Maybe you'd best spend some time with your Light and get your priorities-"

Revlis was not actually aware of him whirling around and seizing Amelia by the throat, but logically, it had to have happened, because she was now pressed up against the wall, staring wide-eyed at him.

Shame and anger mixed in, and the anger was – just barely – the stronger. "Don't…" He said in a low voice. "Don't bring up the Light… ever again."

She was too terrified to struggle, to try and free herself, and so she merely stared at him.

After a long, tense silence, Revlis released her and stepped back.

"Hm. You're a rough one, you know."

Revlis paused to glare at Ysellia. "This doesn't concern you," he said shortly.

"Oh, I believe it does." The Blood Elf nodded, her manner deliberately casual. "I'm sure you're aware that our hearing abilities are far superior to that of your species. And just before you so brutally assaulted your friend there, I distinctly heard her mentioning something about the Light. And of course, it was under the confirmation that I am a Paladin that you cut short our delightful conversation from earlier."

A silence settled upon the trio as the denizens of Undercity bustled in about them. Revlis stared daggers at Ysellia, who seemed not the least bit perturbed. After a few moments of the standoff, Revlis whirled and stalked off, leaving the Blood Elf to fold her arms and shake her head.

Amelia, meanwhile, stared back and forth between the two of them nervously. Then slowly, hesitantly, she started, once again, after Revlis.

* * *

As the door closed behind him, he let out a dry, humourless laugh. "You'd willingly follow one who attacked you, Amelia?" He questioned as he turned to face her.

She shook her head and folded her arms as she stared at him. "Revlis, I want answers. You've been acting strangely for a while now – what's come over you?"

He grit his teeth and turned away. "You wouldn't understand." He muttered softly. _No one else could._

"Oh?" There was an edge to Amelia's voice, one he didn't hear very often, and it let him know that she wasn't going to drop this matter anytime soon. "Based on how you've been acting, I'm sure it has something to do with you being a Paladin's apprentice and the Light-"

"I told you not to mention the Light again!" The outburst was so sudden that it took Revlis half a moment to realize that he was the source.

There was a dead silence in the room for several seconds, and Revlis could do nothing but watch as realization began to dawn on her face.

"Revlis..." She said softly. "The Light… are you still… connected to it?"

He closed his eyes and turned away.

"No."

**

* * *

Chapter End**

* * *

Ugh. Chapter was really difficult to write. Sorry it took so long, too.

Thanks for reading, please review.


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